IP-NRLF 


MS    051 


tfc 


GIFT  OF 


so 


DR:  FT-WEED 


CELIA   THAXTER 


BOSTON 
HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1878, 
Bv  HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD  &  CO. 

4U  rights  reserved. 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED    AND     PRINTED 
H.    O.    HOUGHTON    AND   COMPANY. 


CONTENTS. 


DRIFT-WEED. 

PAGE 

CONTRAST i 

A  FADED  GLOVE 3 

PORTENT      7 

SONG       .        .        .;"'V~';:: 10 

RENUNCIATION n 

SONG 14 

Two  SONNETS 15 

DAYBREAK 17 

SONG 19 

THE  NESTLING  SWALLOWS 20 

VESPER  SONG 23 

FLOWERS  IN  OCTOBER 24 

WAIT 26 

KAREN 27 

A  MUSSEL  SHELL 30 

TRUST 31 

MODJESKA 34 

SONG 35 

LARS 37 

SONG 42 

THORA 43 


f\      4       .     » ^ 
^1      tJ. 


iv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  HAPPY  BIRDS 47 

SLUMBKR  SONG 49 

STARLIGHT 50 

SONG 53 

REMONSTRANCE 54 

MORNING  SONG 58 

BEETHOVEN 59 

SONG 60 

WITH  THE  TIDE 61 

"THE  SUNRISE  NEVER  FAILED  us  YET"         .        .  64 

ENTHRALLED 65 

SONG 67 

TRANSITION 68 

LEVIATHAN 71 

To  A  VIOLIN 73 

PHILOSOPHY 75 

MEDRAKE  AND  OSPREY 77 

ALONE 79 

REVERIE 80 

HEART'S-EASE 83 

AUTUMN 86 

SONG 88 

SUBMISSION 89 

SONG 91 

SPRING  AGAIN         . ' 92 

SONNET 95 

SONG 96 

FOREBODING 97 

HOMAGE 99 

DISCONTENT 101 

ALREADY.       .               103 


CONTENTS. 


GUESTS 105 

MUTATION 108 

FAREWELL 109 

DOUBT in 

SUNSET  SONG 112 

"  LOVE  SHALL  SAVE  US  ALL  " 1 14 

POEMS  FOR  CHILDREN. 

LITTLE  GUSTAVA 117 

THE  DOUBLE  SUNFLOWER 120 

THE  SHAG 123 

PERSEVERANCE 125 

THE  FLOCK  OF  DOVES 128 

ROBIN'S  RAIN-SONG 130 

THE  WANING  MOON 132 

THE  KINGFISHER 134 

PICCOLA 137 

A  TRIUMPH .139 

RESCUED 142 

THE  CONSTANT  DOVE 145 

WILD  GEESE 147 

THE  KITTI WAKES 149 

TRAGEDY 151 


DRIFT-WEED. 


CONTRAST. 

THE  day  is  bitter.     Through  the  hollow  sky 
Rolls  the  clear  sun,  inexorably  bright, 

Glares  on  the  shrinking  earth,  a  lidless  eye, 
Shedding   no   warmth,    but   floods   of    blinding 
light. 

The  hurricane  roars  loud.     The  facile  sea 

With  passionate  resentment  writhes  and  raves 

Beneath  its  maddening  whip,  and  furiously 
Responds  with  all  the  thunder  of  its  waves. 

The    iron    rock,    ice-locked,    snow-sheathed,    lies 
still, 

The  centre  of  this  devastated  world, 
Beaten  and  lashed  by  wind  and  sea  at  will, 

Buried  in  spray  by  the  fierce  breakers  hurled. 


2  CONTRAST. 

Cold,  raging  desol£tio:n/i  ,  Out  of  it, 

Swift-footed,  eager,  noiseless  as  the  light, 

Glides  my  adventurous  thought,  and  lo,  I  sit 
With  Memnon  and  the  desert  in  my  sight. 

Silence  and  breathless  heat!     A  torrid  land, 
Unbroken  to  the  vast  horizon's  verge, 

Save  once,  where  from  the  waste  of  level  sand 
All  motionless  the  clustered  palms  emerge. 

Hot  the  wide  earth  and  hot  the  blazing  sky, 
And   still   as   death,  unchanged  since  time   be 
gan. 

Far  in  the  shimmering  distance  silently 
Creeps  like  a  snake  the  lessening  caravan. 

And  on  the  great  lips  of  the  statue  old 

Broods  silence,  and  no  zephyr  stirs  the  palm. 

Nature  forgets  her  tempests  and  her  cold, 

And  breathes  in  peace.    "There  is  no  joy  but 
calm." 


A  FADED   GLOVE. 

MY  little  granddaughter,  who  fain  would  know 
Why,  folded  close  in  scented  satin  fine, 

I  keep  a  relic  faded  long  ago, 

This  pearl-gray,  dainty,  withered  glove  of  mine, 

Listen :  I  '11  tell  you.     It  is  fifty  years 

Since  the  fair  day  I  laid  my  treasure  here. 

But  yesterday  to  me  the  time  appears ; 
Ages  ago  to  you,  I  know,  my  dear. 

Upon  this  palm,  now  withered  as  my  cheek, 
Love  laid  his  first  kiss,  doubting  and  afraid : 

Oh,  swift  and  strong  across  me  while  I  speak 
Comes    memory    of     Love's    might,    my    little 
maid! 

I  yet  was  so  unconscious!     'T  was  a  night  — 
Some  festal  night  \  my  sisters  were  above, 

Not  ready  quite ;  but  I,  cloaked  all  in  white, 
Waited  below,  and,  fastening  my  glove, 


4  A   FADED   GLOVE. 

Looked  up  with  smiling  speech  to  him  who  stood 
Observing  me,  so  still  and  so  intent, 

I  wondered  somewhat  at  his  quiet  mood, 

Till  it  flashed  on  me  what  the  silence  meant. 

What  sudden  fire  of  dawn  my  sky  o'erspread ! 

What  low  melodious  thunder  broke  my  calm ! 
Could  I  be  dreaming  that  this  glorious  head 

Was  bending  low  above  my  girlish  palm  ? 

His  majesty  of  mien  proclaimed  him  king  ; 

His  lowly  gesture  said,  "I  am  your  slave;" 
Beneath  my  feet  the  firm  earth  seemed  to  swing, 

Unstable  as  storm-driven  wind  and  wave. 

Ah,  beautiful  and  terrible  and  sweet 

The  matchless  moment!     Was  it  life  or  death, 

Or  day  or  night  ?  For  my  heart  ceased  to  beat, 
And    heaven    and    earth    changed    in   a   single 
breath. 

And,  like  a  harp  some  hand  of  power  doth  smite 
To  sudden  harmony,  my  soul  awoke, 

And,  answering,  rose  to  match  his  spirit's  height, 
While  not  a  word  the  mystic  silence  broke. 


A   FADED   GLOVR.  5 

'T  was  but  an  instant.     Down  the  echoing  stair 
Swept  voices,  laughter,  wafts  of  melody, — 

My  sisters  three,  in  draperies  light  as  air; 

But   like  a  dream   the  whole  world   seemed   to 
me, 

As,  steadying  my  whirling  thoughts,  I  strove 
To  grasp  a  truth  so  wondrous,  so  divine. 

I  shut  this  hand,  this  little  tinted  glove, 
To  keep  its  secret  mine,  and  only  mine. 

And  like  an  empty  show  the  brilliant  hours 
Passed     by,     with     beauty,     music,     pleasure 
thronged, 

Phantasmagoria  of  light  and  flowers; 
But  only  one  delight  to  me  belonged, 

One   thought,  one   wish,  one   hope,  one  joy,  one 
fear, 

One  dizzy  rapture,  one  star  in  the  sky,  — 
The  solemn  sky  that  bent  to  bring  God  near  : 

I  would  have  been  content  that  night  to  die. 

Only  a  touch  upon  this  little  glove, 

And,  lo,  the  lofty  marvel  which  it  wrought! 

You  wonder;  for  as  yet  you  know  not  love, 
Oh,  sweet  my  child,  my  lily  yet  unsought ! 


6  A   FADED   GLOVE. 

The  glove  is  faded,  but  immortal  joy 

Lives  in  the  kiss ;  its  memory  cannot  fade ; 

And  when  Death's  clasp  this  pale  hand  shall  de 
stroy, 
The  sacred  glove  shall  in  my  grave  be  laid. 


PORTENT. 

WHEN  the   darkness   drew  away  at   the   dawning 

of  the  day, 
I  heard   the  medrakes   screaming  loud  and  shrill 

across  the  bay; 
And  I  wondered  to  behold  all   the  sky  in  ruddy 

gold, 
Flashing   into   fire   and    flame   where    the   clo.uds 

like  billows  rolled. 

Red   the   sea   ran   east  and  west,  burning  broke 

each  tumbling  crest, 
Where   the  waves,   like   shattered   rubies,    leaped 

and  fell  and  could  not  rest; 
Every  rock  was   carmine-flushed,    every   sail   like 

roses  blushed, 
Flying  swift  before  the  wind  from  the  south  that 

roared  and  rushed. 

"  Is   it  judgment  day  ? "   I  said,  gazing   out   o'er 

billows  red, 
Gazing  up  at   crimson  vapors,  crowding,  drifting 

overhead, 


8  PORTENT. 

Listening   to   the   great  uproar  of  the  waters  on 

the  shore, 
To    the   wild    sad-crying    sea-birds,    buffeted    and 

beaten  sore. 

"Is   the   end  of  time   at   hand?   is  this  pageant, 

strange  and  grand, 
A  portent  of   destruction   blazing  fierce   o'er  sea 

and  land?" 
Then  the  scarlet  ebbed,  and  slow,  sky  above  and 

earth  below, 
Drowned  in  melancholy  purple,  seemed  with  grief 

to  overflow, 

And    while     thus     I     gazed,    the     day,    growing 

stronger,  turned  to  gray ; 
All  the  transitory  splendor  and  the  beauty  passed 

away ; 
And  I  recognized   the   sign  of  the   color   poured 

like  wine 
In  this  morn  of  late  October  as  from  clusters  of 

the  vine. 

'Twas   the  ripeness  of   the  year;  so  on, I   knew, 

must  disappear 
All    the   warmth    and    light    and    happiness    that 

made  the  time  so  dear ; 


PORTENT.  9 

And   again   our   souls   must  wait  while   the   bare 

earth,  desolate, 
Bore  in   patience  and   in  silence  all   the  winter's 

wrath  and  hate. 


SONG. 

SING,  little  bird,  O  sing! 

Howi sweet  thy  voice  and  clear  ! 
How  fine  the  airy  measures  ring, 

The  sad  old  world  to  cheer! 

Bloom,  little  flower,  O  bloom  ! 

Thou  makest  glad  the  day; 
A  scented  torch,  thou  dost  illume 

The  darkness  of  the  way. 

Dance,  little  child,  O  dance  ! 

While  sweet  the  small  birds  sing, 
And  flowers  bloom  fair,  and  every  glance 

Of  sunshine  tells  of  spring. 

O  !  bloom,  and  sing,  and  smile, 
Child,  bird,  and  flower,  and  make 

The  sad  old  world  forget  awhile 
Its  sorrow  for  your  sake  ! 


RENUNCIATION. 

LIKE  scattered  flowers  blown  all  about  the  bay, 
The  rosy  sails,  lit  with  the  sunrise,  shine  ; 

The  white  stars  in  the  brightness  fade  away; 
In  perfect  silence  dawns  the  day  divine. 

"O  bring  me  neither  gifts  of  good  or  ill, 
Delicious  day  !     Let  only  peace  be  mine  !  " 

And  the  fair  hours,  advancing  calm  and  still, 
Passed  by  her  mute,  nor  brought   her  word  or 


But  when  the  glory  of   the  sunset  flame 

Held  all  the  world  in  triumph  brief  and  sweet, 

The    last  bright    hour,   with    faltering  footsteps, 

came 
And  laid  a  gift  august  before  her  feet. 

Yet  she  entreated,  "  Peace  !   Take  back  your  gift, 
O  golden  hour !     I  am  content  to  be 


12  RENUNCIATION. 

Lonely  as  yonder  fading  sails  that   drift 

'Neath  saddened  skies  upon  the  silent  sea." 

Fate  answered  her,  "The  gods  may  not  recall 
Their  gifts,   once    given.      Be   wise,   therefore. 

Accept 
Their  bounty  gratefully ;  for  not  to  all 

Such  largess  falls."     She  bowed  her  head  and 
wept. 

She  turned  her  from  the  sunset's  red  and  gold, 
She  faced  the  dim  East's  waning  viojet, 

She  saw  the  twilight  stealing  pale  and  cold, 
And  all  her  soul  was  wrung  with  her  regret. 

Pure,  powerful,  triumphant  music  shook 
The  listening  air  and  floated  up  the  sky ; 

The  dust  and  ashes  of  her  life  she  took 
And  passed  the  gift  of  splendid  beauty  by. 

"  But   oh,    must   storm  and   strife   be   mine,"  she 
cried, 

"  Forever  ?     Shall  I  never  find  repose  ? 
Mocked  by  mirage  of  hope  and  still  defied 

And  buffeted  by  every  wind  that  blows  !  " 


RENUNCIATION.  13 

From  farthest  distance  high  a  clear  voice  rang, 
"Ashes  and  dust  shall   blossom  like  the  rose! 

Climb  thou  above  the  tempests,"  sweet  it  sang, 
"  Patience !      '  On    every  height    there    lies   re 
pose.'  " 


SONG. 

O  THE  fragrance  of  the  air 

With  the  breathing  of  the  flowers  ! 
O  the  isles  of  cloudlets  fair, 

Shining  after  balmy  showers  ! 

O  the  freshly  rippling  notes  ! 

O  the  warbling,  loud  and  long, 
From  a  thousand  golden  throats ! 

O  the  south  wind's  tender  song! 

O  the  mellow  dip  of  oars 

Through  the  dreamy  afternoon  ! 

O  the  waves  that  clasp  the  shores, 
Chanting  one  delicious  tune ! 

Wears  the  warm,  enchanted  day 
To  the  last  of  its  rich  hours, 

While  my  heart,  in  the  sweet  May, 
Buds  and  blossoms  with  the  flowers. 


TWO    SONNETS. 

NOT  so  !     You  stand  as  long  ago   a  king 

Stood  on  the  sea-shore,  bidding  back  the  tide 
That  onward  rolled  resistless  still,  to  fling 

Its  awful  volume  landward,  wild  and  wide. 
And  just  as  impotent  is  your  command 

To  stem  the  tide  that  rises  in   my  soul. 
It  ebbs  not  at  the  lifting  of  your  hand, 

It  owns  no  curb,  it  yields  to  no  control  ; 
Mighty  it  is,  and  of  the  elements, — 

Brother  of  winds  and  lightning,  cold  and  fire, 
Subtle  as  light,  as  steadfast  and  intense ; 

Sweet  as  the  music  of  Apollo's  lyre. 
You  think  to  rule  the  ocean's    ebb  and  flow 
With  that  soft  woman's  hand  ?    Nay,  love,  not  so. 

And  like  the  light-house  on  the  rock  you  stand, 
And  pierce  the  distance  with  your  searching 
eyes; 

Nor  do  you  heed  the  waves  that  storm  the  land 
And  endlessly  about  you  fall  and  rise, 

But  seek  the  ships  that  wander  night  and  day 


1 6  TWO  SONNETS. 

Within  the  dim  horizon's  shadowy  ring ; 
And  some  with  flashing  glance  you  warn  away, 

And  some  you  beckon  with  sweet  welcoming. 
So  steadfast  still  you  keep  your  lofty  place, 

Safe  from  the  tumult  of  the  restless  tide, 
Firm  as  the  rock  in  your  resisting  grace, 

And  strong  through  humble  duty,  not   through 

pride. 

While  I  —  I  cast  my  life  before  your  feet, 
And  only  live  that  I  may  love  you,  sweet ! 


DAYBREAK. 

IN  the  morning  twilight,  while  the  household  yet 
Slumbering  securely  day  and  night  forget, 
Lightly  o'er  the  threshold  I  pass,  and   breathless 

stand 
In  the   dream   of   beauty  that   rests   on   sea   and 

land. 

Fresh  and  calm  and  dewy,  bathed  in  delicate  air, 
The  happy  earth  awakens  and  grows  of  day 

aware. 
Sweetly  breaks   the   silence  some  bird's  delicious 

trill, 
And  from  the  southern   distance  a  breeze  begins 

to  thrill. 

All  the  stars  have  faded,  and  the  low  large  moon 
O'er  the  western  water  will  have  vanished  soon. 
Crystal-clear  and  cloudless  the  awful  arch  is 

bright, 
As  up  the  conscious  heaven  streams  the  growing 

light. 


1 8  DAYBREAK. 

On  the  far  horizon  softly  sleeps  the  haze  ; 
O'er  the  ocean  spaces  steal  the  rosy  rays ; 
Winds  and  waves  are  quiet,  only  far  away 
'Gainst  the  rock  a  breaker  tosses  sudden  spray. 

Out  behind  the  headland  glides  the  coaster  slow, 
All  her  canvas  blushing  in  the  ruddy  glow  ; 
Where  the  steadfast  light-house  watches  day  and 

night, 
Beautiful  and  stately  she  passes  out  of  sight. 

Day  that  risest  splendid,  with  promise   so  divine, 
Mine   is   thy   perfect    gladness,    thy   loveliness   is 

mine. 
Thou  touchest  with   thy  blessing   God's  creatures 

great  and  small ; 
None  shalt  thou  find  more  grateful  than  I  among 

them  all. 

I  turn  my  face  in  worship  to  the  glory  of  the 
East. 

I  thank  the  lavish  giver  of  my  life's  perpetual 
feast, 

And  fain  would  I  be  worthy  to  partake  of  Na 
ture's  bliss, 

And  share  with  her  a  moment  so  exquisite  as 
this ! 


SONG. 

O  LOVE,  Love,  Love  ! 

Whether  it  rain  or  shine, 

Whether  the  clouds  frown  or  the  sky  is  clear, 
Whether  the  thunder  fill  the  air  with  fear, 
Whether  the  winter  rage  or  peace  is  here, 
If  only  thou  art  near, 

Then  are  all  days  divine. 

O  Love,  Love,  Love  ! 

Where  thou  art  not,  the  place 
Is  sad  to  me  as  death.     It  would  be  cold 
In  heaven  without  thee,  if  I  might  not  hold 
Thy  hand  in  mine,  if  I  might  not  behold 
The  beauty  manifold, 

The  wonder  of  thy  face. 


THE   NESTLING   SWALLOWS. 

THE  summer  day  was  spoiled  with  fitful  storm  ; 

At   night    the    wind    died,    and    the    soft    rain 

dropped 
With  lulling  murmur,  and  the  air  was  warm, 

And  all  the  tumult  and  the  trouble  stopped. 

We  sat  within  the  bright  and  quiet  room, 

Glowing   with   light    and   flowers   and   friendli 
ness  ; 

And  faces  in  the  radiance  seemed  to  bloom, 
Touched  into  beauty  as  by  a  caress. 

And  one  struck  music  from  the  ivory  keys,  — 
Beethoven's  music;  and  the  awful  chords 

Upbore  us  like  the  waves  of  mighty  seas 
That  sing  aloud,  "  All  glory  is  the  Lord's  !  " 

And  the  great  sound  awoke  beneath  the  eaves 
The  nestling  swallows  ;  and  their  twittering  cry, 

With  the  light  touch  of   raindrops  on  the  leaves. 
Broke  into  the  grand  surging  melody. 


THE  NESTLING  SWALLOWS.  21 

Across  its  deep,  tremendous  questioning, 
Its  solemn  acquiescence,  low  and  clear, 

The  rippling  notes  ran  sweet,  with  airy  ring, 
Surprised,  inquiring,  but  devoid  of  fear  ; 

Lapsing  to  silence  at  the  music's  close, 
A  dreamy  clamor,  a  contented  stir. 

"  It  made  no  discord,"  smiling,  as  he  rose, 
Said  the  great  master's  great  interpreter. 

No  discord,  truly!     Ever  Nature  weaves 

Her  sunshine  with  her  shadow,  joy  with  pain  ; 

The    asking   thunder   through    high    heaven   that 

cleaves 
Is  lost  in  the  low  ripple  of  the  rain. 

About  the  edges  of  the  dread  abyss 

The  innocent   blossoms  laugh   toward  the  sun  ; 
Questions  of  life  and  death,  of  bale  or  bliss, 

A  thousand  tender  touches  overrun. 

Why  should  I  chronicle  so  slight  a  thing  ? 

But  such  things  light  up  life  like  wayside  flow 
ers, 
And  memory,   like  a  bird  with  folded  wing, 

Broods  with  still  joy  o'er  such  delicious  hours. 


22  THE  NESTLING  SWALLOWS. 

Dear  unforgotten  time  !     Fair  summer  night  ! 

Thy  nestling  swallows  and  thy  dropping  rain, 
The  golden  music  and  the  faces  bright, 

Will  steal  with  constant   sweetness  back  again. 

A  joy  to  keep  when  winter  darkness  comes ; 

A  living  sense  of  beauty  to  recall  ; 
A   warm,   bright   thought,    when   bitter    cold    be 
numbs, 

To  make  me  glad  and  grateful.     That  is  all. 


VESPER   SONG. 

LIES  the  sunset  splendor  far  and  wide, 

On  the  golden  tide  ! 

Drifting  slow  toward  yonder  evening  red, 
With  the  faint  stars  sparkling  overhead, 
Peacefully  we  glide. 

Sweet  is  rest:  the  summer  day  is  done, 
Gone  the  ardent  sun. 

All  is  still  :  no  wind  of  twilight  blows  ; 

Shuts  the  evening  like  a  crimson  rose  ; 

Night  comes  like  a  nun. 

Lift  we  loving  voices,  pure  and  clear, 

To  the  Father's  ear; 

Fragrant  as  the  flowers  the  thoughts  we  raise 
Up  to  heaven,  while  o'er  the  ocean  ways 

Draws  the  darkness  near. 


FLOWERS   IN   OCTOBER. 

THE  long  black  ledges  are  white  with  gulls, 
As  if  the  breakers  had  left  their  foam  ; 

With  the  dying  daylight  the  wild  wind  lulls, 
And  the  scattered  fishing-boats  steer  for  home. 

On  the  crag  I  sit,  with  the  east  before, 
The  sun  behind  me  is  low  in  the  sky ; 

Warm  is  its  touch  on  the  rocky  shore  ; 
Sad  the  vast  ocean  spaces  lie. 

The  cricket  is  hoarse  in  the  faded  grass  ; 

The  low  bush  rustles  so  thin  and  sere  ; 
Swift  overhead  the  small  birds  pass, 

With  cries  that  are  lonely  and  sweet  and  clear. 

The  last  chill  asters  their  petals  fold 
And  gone  is  the  morning-glory's  bell, 

But  close  in  a  loving  hand  I  hold 
Long  sprays  of  the  scarlet  pimpernel, 


FLOWERS  IN  OCTOBER.  2$ 

And  thick  at  my  feet  are  blossom  and  leaf, 
Blossoms  rich  red  as  the  robes  of  kings  ; 

Hardly  they  're  touched  by  the  autumn's  grief  j 
Do  they  surmise  what  the  winter  brings  ? 

I  turn  my  eyes  from  the  sweet,  sad  sky, 

From  the  foam-white   gulls    and   the   sails  that 
gleam, 

To  muse  on  the  scattered  flowers  that  lie 
Lost  as  yet  in  a  summer  dream. 

O  darlings,  nursed  by  the  salt  sea-spray! 

O  shapes  of  beauty  so  quaint  and  bright  I 
But  for  a  little  the  frosts  delay, 

Soon  will  be  ended  your  brief  delight. 

Could  I  but  succor  you,  every  one, 

^Spread  wings  of  safety  'twixt  harm  and  you  ; 
Call  from  its  southern  travel  the  sun, 
Banish  the  snow  from  the  arching  blue  ! 

It  may  not  be,  and  the  frosts  must  fall, 

The  winter  must  reign  in  the  summer's  stead ; 

But,  though  you  perish  beyond  recall, 
Ever  I  love  you,  alive  or  dead. 


WAIT. 

ARE  the  roses  fallen,  dear  my  child  ? 

Has  the  winter  left  us  only  thorns, 
Sharp  and  shuddering  stalks  in  tangles  wild, 

Set  with  cruel  teeth  and  iron  horns  ? 

Wait  a  little,  fret  not,  and  at  last 
Beauty  will  the  barren  boughs  again 

Tenderly  re-clothe,  when  snows  are  past, 
And  the  earth  grows  glad  in  sun  and  rain. 

Never  vex  your  heart  nor  tear  your  hands 
Searching  'mid  the  thorns  for  vanished  bliss  ; 

For  the  soul  that  patience  understands 
Needs  no  wisdom  more  divine  than  this  : 

Wait !     The  sweet  flowers  of  the  coming  spring 
Beautiful  as  those  you  mourn  shall  be. 

Wait !  for  happy  birds  are  sure  to  sing, 
While  new  roses  bloom  for  you  and  me. 


KAREN. 

AT  her  low  quaint  wheel  she  sits  to  spin, 
Deftly  drawing  the  long,  light  rolls 

Of  carded  wool  through  her  ringers  thin, 
By  the  fireside  at  the  Isles  of  Shoals. 

She  is  not  pretty,  she  is  not  young, 

Poor  homesick  Karen,  who  sits  and  spins, 

Humming  a  song  in  her  native  tongue, 
That  falters  and  stops,  and  again  begins, 

While  her  wheel  flies  fast,  with  its  drowsy  hum, 
And  she  makes  a  picture  of  pensive  grace 

As  thoughts  of  her  well-loved  Norway  come 
And  deepen  the  shadows  across  her  face. 

Her  collar  is  white  as  the  drifted  snow, 

And  she  spun  and  wove  her  blue  gown  fine 

With  those  busy  hands.     See,  a  flitting  glow 
Makes  her  pale  cheek  burn  and  her  dark  eyes 
shine  ! 


28  KAREN. 

Left  you  a  lover  in  that  far  land, 

O  Karen  sad,  that  you  pine  so  long? 

Would  I  could  unravel  and  understand 
That  sorrowful,  sweet  Norwegian  song! 

When  the  spring  wind  blew,  the  "America  wind," 
As  your  people  call  it,  that  bears  away 

Their  youths  and  maidens  a  home  to  find 
In  this  distant  country,  could  you  not  stay 

And  live  in  that  dear  Norway  still, 
And  let  the  emigrant  crowd  sail  West 

Without  you?     Well,  you  have  had  your  will. 
Why  would  you  fly  from  your  sheltering  nest? 

O  homesick  Karen,  listen  to  me : 

You  are  not  young,  and  you  are  not  fair, 

But  Waldemar  no  one  else  can  see, 
For  he  carries  your  image  everywhere. 

Is  he  too  boyish  a  lover  for  you, 

With  all  his  soul  in  his  frank  blue  eyes? 

Feign  you  unconsciousness  ?     Is  it  true 

You   know  not   his  heart   in   your   calm    hand 
lies? 


KAREN.  29 

Handsome  and  gentle  and  good  is  he; 

Loves  you,  Karen,  better  than  life ; 
Do  but  consider  him,  can't  you  see 

What  a  happy  woman  would  be  his  wife  ? 

You  won't  be  merry  ?     You  can't  be  glad  ? 

Still  must  you  mourn  for  that  home  afar? 
Well,  here  is  an  end  of  a  hope  I  had, 

And  I  am  sorry  for  Waldemar  ! 


A  MUSSEL   SHELL. 

WHY  art  thou  colored  like  the  evening  sky 
Sorrowing  for  sunset?     Lovely  dost  thou  lie, 
Bared  by  the  washing  of  the  eager  brine, 
At  the  snow's  motionless  and  wind-carved  line. 

Cold   stretch  the   snows,  cold   throng   the  waves, 

the  wind 

Stings  sharp,  —  an  icy  fire,  a  touch  unkind, — 
And  sighs  as  if  with  passion  of  regret, 
The  while  I  mark  thy  tints  of  violet. 

O  beauty  strange !  O  shape  of  perfect  grace, 
Whereon  the  lovely  waves  of  color  trace 
The  history  of  the  years  that  passed  thee  by, 
And  touched  thee  with  the  pathos  of  the  sky  ! 

The    sea   shall    crush   thee;   yea,    the   ponderous 

wave 
Up   the   loose   beach  shall   grind,  and   scoop  thy 

grave, 
Thou  thought  of  God !  What  more  than  thou  am 

I? 
Both*  transient  as  the  sad  wind's  passing  sigh. 


TRUST. 

SEE   how  the  wind   is   hauling   point  by  point  to 

the  south, 
By  the  boats    in   the   little   harbor,  that   swing 

to  its  lightest  touch; 
And   the   coasting  craft  emerge   from   the  far-off 

river's  mouth, 

And  on  the  rocks  the  breakers  relax  their  im 
potent  clutch. 

At  last  is   the   tempest   ended,  the   bitter   north 

east  appeased, 
And  the  world  will  soon  be  sparkling  in  clear 

white  fire  and  dew, 
And  the  sullen  clouds  melt  swiftly,  by  the  might 

of  warm  wind  seized, 

And    the    heavens    shine    in    splendor,    where 
broadens  the  matchless  blue. 

Carol  the  birds  in  chorus  ;  glitters  the  snow-white 


Screaming   loud   in    mid-air,    slow-soaring   high 
with  delight  ; 


32  TRUST. 

And     the     rose-buds     loosen     their    petals,     the 

drenched  flowers,  sodden  and  dull, 
Break   out   into   stars  of  purple  and   gold  and 
crimson  and  white. 

Where  wert   thou,    Spirit   of   Beauty,  while   earth 

lay  cold  and  dark, 
And   the   chill  wind  struck   to    our  hearts,  and 

the  sky  like  an  enemy  scowled, 
And  we  crept  through  the  mists  desponding,  and 

never  a  glimmering  spark 

Shot  a  ray  through  the  gloom  while  the  storm 
like  a  demon  groveled  and  growled  ? 

Where  art  thou,  Heavenly  Father,  when  thy  world 

seems  spoiled  with  sin, 
And   darker  far   than    thy   tempest   arises   the 

smoke  of  doubt, 
That  blackens  the  sky  of  the  soul? — for  faith  is 

hard  to  win : 

To  our  finite  sight  wrong  triumphs  and  noble 
things  die  out, 

While  shapes  of  monstrous  evil  make  fearful  thy 

nights  and  days, 

And    murder    stalks    unhindered,    working    its 
hideous  will, 


TRUST.  33 

And   innocence,  gentleness,  charity  seem   to   for 
sake  earth's  ways, 

And   in    the  hearts  of    thy  creatures    are   mad 
ness  and  nameless  ill. 

Behind  the  cloud  Thou  waitest,  hidden,  -yet  very 

near, 
Infinite    Spirit    of    Beauty,   Infinite    Power    of 

Good! 
At    last  Thou   wilt    scatter    the   vapors,    and    all 

things  shall  be  clear, 

And  evil  shall  vanish  away  like  a  mist  by  the 
wind  pursued. 


MODJESKA. 

DEFT  hands  called  Chopin's  music  from  the  keys. 
Silent  she  sat,  her  slender  figure's  poise 
Flower-like  and  fine  and  full  of  lofty  ease  ; 
She  heard  her  Poland's  most  consummate  voice 
From  power  to  pathos  falter,  sink  and  change ; 
The  music  of  her  land,  the  wond'rous  high, 
Utmost  expression  of  its  genius  strange, — 
Incarnate  sadness  breathed  in  melody. 
Silent  and  thrilled  she  sat,  her  lovely  face 
Flushing  and  paling  like  a  delicate  rose 
Shaken  by  summer  winds  from  its  repose 
Softly  this  way  and  that  with  tender  grace, 
Now  touched  by  sun,  now  into  shadow  turned, — 
While  bright    with    kindred    fire    her    deep    eyes 
burned ! 


SONG. 

0  SWALLOW,  sailing   lightly 
The  crystal  deeps  of  blue, 

With  flashing  wings  that  brightly 
Glitter  the  sunshine  through, 

What  sayest  thou,  returning 
From  sunny  lands  and  fair, 

That  summer  roses  burning 
Shall  light  the  fragrant  air? 

That  merry  days  thou  bringest, 
And  gone  is.  winter's  woe,  — 

Is  this  the  song  thou  singest  ? 
Gay  prophet,  is  it  so  ? 

1  know  all  beauties  follow 
Swift  in  thy  shining  track, 

But  to  my  heart,  O  swallow, 

Canst  thou  bring  summer  back  ? 


36  SONG. 

No  shaft  of  sunshine  glorious 
Shall  melt  my  winter  snows, 

No  kiss  of  June  victorious 
Awake  for  me  the  rose  ! 


LARS. 

"TELL  us  a  story  of  these  isles,"  they  said, 
The   daughters   of  the   West,  whose    eyes   had 
seen 

For  the  first  time  the  circling  sea,  instead 

Of  the  blown  prairie's  waves  of  grassy  green  : 

"Tell  us  of  wreck  and  peril,  storm  and  cold, 
Wild  as  the  wildest."     Under  summer  stars, 

With  the  slow  moonrise  at  our  back,  I  told 
The  story  of  the  young  Norwegian,  Lars. 

That    youth    with    the  -  black    eyebrows    sharply 

drawn 

In  strong  curves,  like  some  sea-bird's  wings  out 
spread 

O'er  his  dark  eyes,  is  Lars,  and  this  fair  dawn 
Of  womanhood,  the  maiden  he  will  wed. 

She  loves  him  for  the  dangers  he  has  past. 
Her  rosy  beauty  glowed  before  his  stern 


38  LARS. 

And  vigilant  regard,  until  at  last 

Her  sweetness  vanquished  Lars  the  taciturn. 

For  he  is  ever  quiet,  strong,  and  wise; 

Wastes  nothing,  not  a  gesture  nor  a  breath  ; 
Forgets  not,  gazing  in  the  maiden's  eyes, 

A  year  ago  it  was  not  love,  but  death, 

That  clasped  him,  and  can  hardly  learn  as  yet 
How  to  be  merry,  haunted  by  that  pain 

And  terror,  and  remembering  with  regret 
The  comrade  he  can  never  see  again. 

Out  from  the  harbor  on  that  winter  day 

Sailed  the  two  men  to  set  their  trawl  together. 

Down  swept  the  sudden  snow-squall  o'er  the  bay, 
And   hurled   their   slight   boat    onward    like    a 
feather. 

They  tossed  they  knew  not  whither,  till  at  last 
Under  the  light-house  cliff  they  found  a  lee, 

And  out  the  road-lines  of  the  trawl  they  cast 
To  moor  her,  if  so  happy  they  might  be. 

But  quick  the  slender  road-lines  snapt  in  twain 
In    the   wild    breakers,    and    once    more    they 
tossed 


LARS.  39 

Adrift ;  and,  watching  from  his  misty  pane, 
The   light-house    keeper    muttered,    "They   are 
lost ! " 

Lifted  the  snow :  night  fell :  swift  cleared  the 
sky; 

The  air  grew  sharp  as  death  with  polar  cold  : 
Raged  the  insensate  gale,  and  flashing  high 

In  star-light  keen  the  hissing  billows  rolled. 

Driven  before  the  wind's  incessant  scourge 

All   night   they  fled,  —  one   dead    ere    morning 
Jay. 

Lars  saw  his  strange,  drawn  countenance  emerge 
In  the  fierce  sunrise  light  of  that  drear  day, 

And  thought,  "A  little  space  and  I  shall  be 
Even  as  he,"  and,  gazing  in  despair 

O'er  the  wide,  weltering  waste,  no  sign  could  see 
Of  hope,  or  help,  or  comfort,  anywhere. 

Two  hundred  miles  before  the  hurricane 
The  dead  and  living  drove  across  the  sea. 

The  third  day  dawned.     His  dim  eyes  saw  again 
The  vast  green  plain,  breaking  eternally 


4O  LARS. 

In  ghastly  waves.     But  in  the  early  light, 
On  the  horizon  glittering  like  a  star, 

Fast  growing,  looming  tall,  with  canvas  white, 
Sailed  his  salvation  southward  from  afar ! 

Down  she  bore,  rushing  o'er  the  hills  of  brine, 
Straight  for  his  feeble  signal.     As  she  past, 

Out  from  the  schooner's  deck  they  flung  a  line, 
And  o'er  his  head  the  open  noose  was  cast. 

Clutching  with  both  his  hands   the   bowline  knot 
Caught  at  his  throat,  swift   drawn  through  fire 

he   seemed, 
Whelmed  in  the  icy  sea,  and  he  forgot 

Life,  death,  and  all  things,  — yet  he  thought  he 
dreamed 

A  dread  voice  cried,  "  We  've  lost  him  !  "  and  a 
.  sting 

Of  anguish  pierced  his  clouded  senses  through  ; 
A  moment  more,  and  like  a  lifeless  thing 

He  lay  among  the  eager,  pitying  crew. 

Long  time  he  swooned,  while  o'er  the  ocean  vast 
The   dead   man   tossed   alone,    they   knew    not 
where ; 


LARS.  41 

But  youth  and  health  triumphant  were  at  last, 
And  here  is  Lars,  you  see,  and  here  the  fair 

Young  snow-and-rose-bloom   maiden  he  will  wed. 

His  face  is  kindly,  though  it  seems   so  stern. 
Death  passed  him  by,  and  life  begins  instead, 

For  Thora  sweet  and  Lars  the  taciturn. 


SONG. 

A  RUSHING  of  wings  in  the  dawn, 
A  flight  of  birds  in  the  sky  ! 

The  darkness  of  night  withdrawn, 
In  an  outburst  of  melody! 

O  birds  through  the  heaven  that  soar 
With  such  tumult  of  jubilant  song! 

The  shadows  are  flying  before, 
For  the  rapture  of  life  is  strong, 

And  my  spirit  leaps  to  the  light 
On  the  wings  of  its  hope  newborn, 

And  I  follow  your  radiant  flight 
Through  the  golden  halls  of  morn  ! 


THORA. 

COME  under  my  cloak,  my  darling! 

Thou  little  Norwegian  maid! 
Nor  wind,  nor  rain,  nor  rolling  sea 

Shall  chill  or  make  thee  afraid. 

Come  close,  little  blue-eyed  maiden, 

Nestle  within  my  arm  ; 

Though   the   lightning   leaps   and   the   thunder 
peals, 

We  shall  be  safe  from  harm. 

Swift  from  the  dim  horizon 

The  dark  sails  scud  for  the  land. 

Look,  how  the  rain-cloud  drops  its  fringe 
About  us  on  either  hand! 

And  high  from  our  plunging  bowsprit 

Dashes  the  cold  white  spray, 
And  storm  and  tumult  fill  the  air 

And  trouble  the  summer  day. 


44  THORA. 

But  thou  fearest  nothing,  darling, 

Though  the  tempest  mutter  and  brood, 

Though  the  wild  wind  tosses  thy  bright  brown 

locks, 
And  flutters  thy  grass-green  snood. 

I  kiss  thy  wise  white  forehead, 
While  the  thunder  rolls  so  grand  ; 

And  I  hold  the  curve  of  thy  lovely  cheek 
In  the  hollow  of  my  hand  ; 

And  I  watch  the  sky  and  the  ocean, 

And  study  thy  gentle  face. — 
Its  lines  of  sweetness  and  power, 

The  type  of  thy  strong  Norse  race. 

And  I  wonder  what  thy  life  will  be, 

Thou  dear  and  charming  child, 
Who  hast  drifted  so  far  across  the  world 

To  a  home  so  lone  and  wild. 

Rude  and  rough  and  sad,  perhaps ; 

Anxious,  and  full  of  toil ; 
But  I  think  no  sorrow  or  hardship 

Thine  inner  peace  can  spoil. 


THORA.  45 

For  better  than  kingly  fortunes 

Is  the  wealth  that  thou  dost  hold  — 

A  nature  perfectly  balanced, 
A  beauty  of  heart  untold. 

Thou  wilt  open  the  door  of  patience, 
When  sorrow  shall  come  and  knock  ; 

But  to  every  evil,  unworthy  thing 
Wilt  thou  the  gates  fast  lock. 

So  shall  thy  days  be  blessed, 

Whatever  may  be  thy  lot. 
But  what  I  am  silently  pondering 

Thou  understandest  not, 

And  liftest  to  me  thy  steadfast  eyes, 
Calm  as  if  Heaven  looked  through. 

Do  all  the  maidens  in  Norway 
Have  eyes  so  clear  and  blue  ? 

See,  darling,  where,  in  the  distance, 
The  cloud  breaks  up  in  the  sky, 

And  lets  a  ray  of  sunshine  fall 
Where  our  far-off  islands  lie  ! 


46  THORA. 

White  they  gleam,  and  the  sea  grows  bright, 

And  silver  shines  the  foam. 
A  little  space,  and  our  anchor  drops 
•»  In  the  haven  of  Love  and  Home ! 


THE   HAPPY   BIRDS. 

ALL  about  the  gable  tall  swift  the  swallows  flit, 
Wheel  and  call  and  dart  and,  fluttering,  chatter 

sweet ; 
All   along  the   sloping,    sunny   eaves   they  perch 

and  sit, 
Bright  as  lapis-lazuli,  glittering  in  the  heat. 

O  spirits  of  the  summer,  so  dainty,  delicate, 
Creatures  born  of  sunshine  and   cheer  and  all 

delight, 

Pray  you,'  but  delay  a  moment,  yet  a  little  wait, 
Ere  for  southern   lands  again  you  spread  your 
wings  in  flight ! 

Yet    the   August    sun   is   hot,   yet   the   days   are 

long, 
Though   the    grass   is   over-ripe   and   the   aster 

blows ; 
Still   the   silence    echoes   to   the    sparrow's   quiet 

song, 

Still,  though  late,  in  thorny  thickets  lingers  the 
wild  rose. 


48  THE  HAPPY  BIRDS, 

Tarry  yet  a  little,  for  after  you  have  flown 
Lonely  all  the  house-tops  and  still  the  air  will 

grow  • 
Where   your   cheerful  voices    rang   autumn  winds 

will  moan  ; 

Presently  we  shall  be  dull  with  winter's  weight 
of  snow. 

O !   that  we  could  follow  you  and  cling  to  Sum 
mer's  hand, 
Ye   happy,  happy  birds,   flying   lightly  through 

the  sky! 
Reach  with  you   the   rapture  of  some  far,  sunny 

land, 

Leave  to  Winter's  bitterness  our  glad  and  gay 
good-by ! 


SLUMBER   SONG. 

THOU  little  child,  with  tender,  clinging  arms, 
Drop    thy  sweet    head,  my  darling,    down    and 

rest 

Upon   my  shoulder,  rest  with  all  thy  charms  ; 
Be     soothed    and     comforted,    be     loved    and 
blessed. 

Against  thy  silken,  honey-colored  hair 
I  lean  a  loving  cheek,  a  mute  caress; 

Close,  close  I  gather  thee  and  kiss  thy  fair 
White  eyelids,  sleep  so  softly  doth  oppress. 

Dear  little  face,  that  lies  in  calm  content 
Within  the  gracious  hollow  that  God  made 

In  every  human  shoulder,  where  He  meant 
Some  tired  head  for  comfort  should  be  laid  ! 

Most  like  a  heavy-folded  rose  thou  art, 
In  summer  air  reposing,  warm  and  still. 

Dream  thy  sweet  dreams  upon  my  quiet  heart; 
I  watch  thy  slumber  ;  naught  shall  do  thee  ill. 
4 


STARLIGHT. 

THE  chill,  sad  evening  wind  of  winter  blows 
Across  the  headland,  bleak  and  bare  and  high, 

Rustling  the  thin,  dry  grass  that  sparsely  grows, 
And  shivering  whispers  like  a  human  sigh. 

The  sky  is  thick  with  stars  that  sparkle  keen, 
And  great  Capella  in  the  clear  northeast 

Rolls  slowly  up  the  cloudless  heaven  serene, 
And  the  stern  uproar  of  the  sea  has  ceased 

A  fleeting  moment,  and  the  earth  seems  dead  — 
So  still,  so  sad,  so  lonely,  and  so  cold  ! 

Snow-dust  beneath  me,  and  above  my  head 
Star-dust     in     blackness,     like     thick-sprinkled 
gold. 

The  stars  of  fire,  the  tiny  stars  of  ice, 

The  awful  whirling  worlds  in  space  that  wheel, 

The  dainty  crystal's  delicate  device, — 

One    hand    has    fashioned    both  —  and    I,  who 
kneel 


STARLIGHT.  5 1 

Here  on  this  winter  night,  'twixt  stars  and  snow, 
As  transient  as  a  snowflake  and  as  weak, 

Yearning  like  all  my  fellow-men  to  know 

His  hidden  purpose  that  no  voice  may  speak ; 

In  silent  awe  I  watch  his  worlds :  I  see 
Mighty  Capella's  signal,  and  I  know 

The  steady  beam  of  light  that  reaches  me 
Left  the  great  orb  full  seventy  years  ago. 

A  human  life-time !  Reason  strives  in  vain 
To  grasp  at  time  and  space,  and  evermore 

Thought,  weary  grown  and  baffled,  must  again 
Retrace  its  slow  steps  to  the  humble  door 

Of  wistful  patience,  there  to  watch  and  wait 
Devoutly,  till  at  last  Death's  certain  hand, 

Imperious,  opens  wide  the  mystic  gate 

Between  us  and  the  future  He  has  planned. 

Yea,  Death  alone.     But  shall  Death  conquer  all  ? 

Love  fights  and  pleads  in  anguish  of  despair. 
Sooner  shall  great  Capella  wavering  fall 

Than  any  voice  respond  to  his  wild  prayer. 


52  STARLIGHT. 

And  yet,  what  fire  divine  makes  hope  to  glow 
Through  the  pale  ashes  of  our  earthly  fate  ? 

Immortal  hope,  above  all  joy,  below 

All  depths  of  pain  wherein  we  strive  and  wait ! 

Dull  is  our  sense ;  hearing  we  do  not  hear, 
And  seeing  see  not;  yet  we  vaguely  feel 

Somewhere  is  comfort  in  the  darkness  drear, 
And,  hushing    doubts    and    fears,  we    learn    to 
kneel. 

Starlight  and  silence !     Dumb  are  sky  and  sea ; 

Silent  as  death  the  awful  spaces  lie ; 
Speechless  the  bitter  wind  blows  over  me, 

Sad  as  the  breathing  of  a  human  sigh. 


SONG. 

HARK,  how  sweet  the  thrushes  sing! 

Hark,  how  clear  the  robins  call ! 
Chorus  of  the  happy  spring, 

Summer's  madrigal ! 

Flood  the  world  with  joy  and  cheer, 
O  ye  birds,  and  pour  your  song 

Till  the  farthest  distance  hear 
Notes  so  glad  and  strong  ! 

Storm  the  earth  with  odors  sweet, 
O  ye  flowers,  that  blaze  in  light! 

Crowd  about  June's  shining  feet, 
All  ye  blossoms  bright. 

Shout,  ye  waters,  to  the  sun ! 

Back  are  winter's  fetters  hurled; 
Summer's  glory  is  begun  ; 

Beauty  holds  the  world  ! 


REMONSTRANCE. 

"  COME  out  and  hear  the  birds  sing  !  O,  where 
fore  sit  you  there 

At  the  western  window  watching,  dreamy-pale 
and  still  and  fair, 

While  the  warm  summer  wind  disparts  your 
tresses'  clustering  gold  ? 

What  is  it  on  the  dim  sea  line  your  eyes  would 
fain  behold?" 

"  I  seek  a  sail  that  never  looms  from  out  the 
purple  haze 

At  rosy  dawn,  or  fading  eve,  or  in  the  noon 
tide's  blaze." 

.  "A  sail?  Lo,  many  a  column  of  white  canvas 
far  and  near] 

All  day  they  glide  across  the  blue,  appear  and 
disappear ; 

See,  how  they  crowd  the  offing,  flocking  from 
the  sultry  South ! 

Why  stirs  a  smile  more  sad  than  tears  the  pa 
tience  of  your  mouth  ?  " 


REMONS  TRANCE.  5  5 

"They   lean   before   the  freshening   breeze,   they 

cross  the  ocean  floor, 
But  the   ship  that  brings   me  tidings  of  my  love 

comes  nevermore." 

"  Come  out  into   the   garden  where   the   crimson 

phloxes  burn, 
And   every   slender   lily-stem   upbears    a   lustrous 

urn; 
A  thousand   greetings  float  to  you  from  bud  and 

bell  and  star, 
Their  sweetness  freights  the  breathing  wind  ;  how 

beautiful  they  are  !  " 
"  Their    brilliant   color    blinds    me  \    I   sicken   at 

their  breath ; 
The  whisper  of  this  mournful  wind  is  sad  to  me 

as  death." 

"And   must  you  sit  so  white  and   cold  while  all 

the  world  is  bright? 
Ah,  come  with  me  and   see  how  all  is  brimming 

with  delight ! 
On  the  beach  the  emerald  breaker  murmurs  o'er 

the  tawny  sand  ; 
The  white    spray   from    the    rock    is   tossed,   by 

melting  rainbows  spanned." 


56  REMONSTRANCE. 

"  Nay,  mock  me  not !  I  have  no  heart  for  na 
ture's  happiness; 

One  sound  alone  my  soul  can  fill,  one  shape  my 
sight  can  bless." 

"And  are  your  fetters  forged  so  fast,  though  you 

were  free  and  strong, 
By  the  old,  mysterious  madness,  told  in  story  and 

in  song 
Since   burdened  with  the   human   race  the  world    ' 

began  to  roll  ? 
Can   you   not   thrust   the  weight   away,  so    heavy 

on  your  soul  ? " 
"There    is    no    power    in    earth  or   heaven   such 

madness  to  destroy, 
And    I    would     not    part    with     sorrow    that    is 

sweeter  far  than  joy." 

"O  marvelous  content,  that  from  such  still  de 
spair  is  born  ! 

Nay,  I  would  wrestle  with  my  fate  till  love  were 
slain  with  scorn ! 

O,  mournful  Mariana!  I  would  never  sit  so 
pale, 

Watching,  with  eyes  grown  dim  with  dreams,  the 
coming  of  a  sail ! " 


REMONSTRANCE. 


57 


"  Peace,  peace !     How  can   you  measure  a  depth 

you  never  knew  ? 
My  chains   to   me  are  dearer  than   your  freedom 

•is  to  you." 


MORNING   SONG. 

WE  launch  our  boat  upon  the  sparkling  sea, 
We    dip    our    rhythmic    oars    with    song    and 
cheer ; 

Before  our  dancing  prow  the  shadows  flee, 
Behind  us  fast  the  fair  coasts  disappear. 

So  fade  our  childhood's  shores.    Without  regret 
We  leave  the  safe,  green,  happy  fields,  and  try 

The  vague,  uncertain  ocean,  storm-beset, 
Nor  see  the  tempests  that  before  us  lie. 

Flushed    with    our    hope    the     unknown    future 

gleams, 
Freighted    with    blissful    dreams     our     barque 

floats  on, 
And  life  a  shining  path  of  victory  seems, 

Crowned   with    a   golden    peace    when    day  is 
done. 


BEETHOVEN. 

IF  God  speaks  anywhere,  in  any  voice, 

To  us,  his  creatures,  surely  here  and  now 

We   hear  Him,  while   the   great   chords   seem  to 

bow 
Our  heads,    and   all    the    symphony's    breathless 

noise 

Breaks  over  us  with  challenge  to  our  souls  ! 
Beethoven's  music  !     From  the  mountain  peaks 
The  strong,  divine,  compelling  thunder  rolls, 
And,    "  Come   up   higher,    come  !  "   the  words  it 

speaks, 

"  Out  of  your  darkened  valleys  of  despair, 
Behold,  I  lift  you  upon  mighty  wings 
Into  Hope's  living,  reconciling  air  ! 
Breathe,  and  forget  your  life's  perpetual  stings  : 
Dream,  —  folded  on  the  breast  of  Patience  sweet, 
Some  pulse  of  pitying  love  for  you  may  beat !  " 


SONG. 

WHAT  good   gift  can  I  bring  thee,  O  thou  dear 
est ! 

All  joys  to  thee  belong ; 
Thy  praise  from  loving  lips  all  day  thou  hearest, 

Sweeter  than  any  song. 
For  thee  the  sun  shines  and  the  earth  rejoices 

In  fragrance,  music,  light ; 
The  spring-time  wooes  thee  with  a  thousand  voices, 

For  thee  her  flowers  are  bright ; 
Youth   crowns    thee,    and    love   waits    upon    thy 
splendor, 

Trembling  beneath  thine  eyes  ; 
The  morning  sky  is  yet  serene  and  tender, 

Thy  life  before  thee  lies. 
What  shall  I  bring  thee,  O  thou  dearest,  fairest! 

Thou  holdest  in  thy  hand 
My  heart  as  lightly  as  the  rose  thou  wearest ; 

Nor  wilt  thou  understand 
Thou  art  my  sun,  my  rose,  my  day,  my  morrow, 

My  lady  proud  and  sweet ! 
I  bring  the  treasure  of  a  priceless  sorrow, 

To  lay  before  thy  feet. 


WITH  THE  TIDE.       . 

SWIFT  o'er  the  water  my  light  yacht  dances, 
Flying  fast  from  the  wind  of  the  South  ; 

Bright  from  her  bowsprit  the  white  foam  glances, 
And  straight  we  steer  for  the  harbor's  mouth. 

The  coast  line  dim  from  the  haze  emerges, 
With  tender  tints  of  the  spring-time  toned  ; 

On  silver  beaches  roll  sparkling  surges, 

And  woods  are  green  on  the  hills  enthroned. 

The  sentinel  light-houses  watch  together, 
As  the  stately  river  we  reach  at  last ; 

The  robins  sing  in  the  blithe  May  weather, 
And  the  flood-tide  bears  us  onward  fast. 

From  bank  to  bank  flows  a  chorus  mellow 
Of  rippling  frogs  and  of  singing  birds; 

The  fields  are  starry  with  flowers  of  yellow, 
And  green  slopes  pasture  the  lowing  herds. 


62  WITH  THE    TJDE. 

A  lovely  perfume  blows  softly  over 
From  apple-blossoms  on  either  side, 

From  golden  willow  and  budding  clover, 
And  many  a  garden  of  lowly  pride. 

And  a  lazy  echo  of  glad  cocks  crowing 
From  door-yards  cozy  rings  far  and  near ! 

And  the  city's  murmur  is  slowly  growing 
From  out  the  distance  distinct  and  clear. 

Over  the  river,  so  broadly  flowing, 

Cottages  look  from  the  sheltering  trees  ; 

And  out  through  the  orchard,  with  blossoms  snow 
ing, 
Comes  a  brown-haired  maiden  from  one  of  these. 

She  waves  her  hand  as  in  friendly  token, 
And  watches  my  swift  boat  sailing  on  ; 

I  answer  her  signal  —  no  word  is  spoken, 
'Tis  but  a  moment,  and  she  is  gone. 

And  when,  from  the  far-off  town  returning, 
Dropping  down  with  the  ebbing  tide, 

Seaward  we  sail,  with  the  sunset  burning 
O'er  wastes  of  the  ocean,  lone  and  wide, 


WITH  THE    TIDE.  63 

Again  in  the  orchard  her  white  hand  lifted 
Shows  like  a  waft  of  a  sea-bird's  wing, 

While  the  rosy  blossoms  are  o'er  her  drifted, 
And  loud  with  rapture  the  robins  sing. 

I  know  her  not  and  shall  know  her  never, 
But  ever  I  watch  for  that  friendly  sign  ; 

And  up  or  down  with  the  stately  river 
Her  lovely  greeting  is  always  mine. 

And  her  presence  lends  to  the  scene  a  glory, 
More  beauty  to  blossom  and  stream  and  tree ; 

And  back  o'er  the  wastes  of  the  ocean  hoary 
Her  gentle  image  I  take  with  me. 


"  THE  SUNRISE  NEVER  FAILED  US  YET." 

UPON  the  sadness  of  the  sea 
The  sunset  broods  regretfully ; 
From  the  far  lonely  spaces,  slow 
Withdraws  the  wistful  afterglow. 

So  out  of  life  the  splendor  dies  ; 
So  darken  all  the  happy  skies  ; 
So  gathers  twilight,  cold  and  stern  ; 
But  overhead  the  planets  burn  ; 

And  up  the  east  another  day 
Shall  chase  the  bitter  dark  away  ; 
What  though  our  eyes  with  tears  be  wet  ? 
The  sunrise  never  failed  us  yet. 

The  blush  of  dawn  may  yet  restore 
Our  light  and  hope  and  joy  once  more. 
Sad  soul,  take  comfort,  nor  forget 
That  sunrise  never  failed  us  yet ! 


ENTHRALLED. 

LIKE  huge  waves,  petrified,  against  the  sky, 
The  solemn  hills  are  heaved;  by  shadow  kissed, 

Or  softly  touched  by  delicate  light  they  lie 
Melting  in  sapphire  and  in  amethyst. 

The  thronging  mountains,  crowding  all  the  scene, 
Are  like  the  long  swell  of  an  angry  sea, 

Tremendous  surging  tumult  that   has  been 
Smitten  to  awful  silence  suddenly. 

The  nearer  slopes  with  autumn  glory  blaze, 
Garnet  and  ruby,  topaz,  amber,  gold  ; 

Up  through  the  quiet  air  the  thin  smoke  strays 
From   many   a   lonely   homestead,    brown    and 
old. 

The  scattered  cattle  graze  in  pastures  bare, 
The  brooks  sing  unconcerned  beside  the  way, 

Belated  crickets  chirp,  while  still  and  fair 
Dies  into  sunset  peace  the  golden  day. 
5 


66  ENTHRALLED. 

And  toward  the  valley,  where  the  little  town 
Beckons  with   twinkling   lights,  that  gleam  be 
low 

Like  bright  and  friendly  eyes,  we  loiter  down 
And  find  our  shelter  and  our  fireside  glow. 

But  while  the  gay  hours  pass  with  laugh  and 
jest, 

And  all  is  radiant  warmth  and  joy  once  more, 
My  captured  thought  must  wander  out  in  quest 

Of  that  vast  mountain  picture,  o'er  and  o'er; 

Where  underneath  the  black  and  star-sown  arch 
Earth's  ancient  trouble  speaks  eternally ; 

And  I  must  watch  those  mighty  outlines  march 
In  silence,  motionless,  with  none  to  see ; 

While    from    the    north    the    night-wind    sighing 

sweeps, 

And,  sharp  against  the  crystal  sky  relieved, 
The  tumult  of  forgotten  ages  sleeps 

Where   like   huge  waves   the   solemn   hills   are 
heaved. 


SONG. 

ROLLS  the  long  breaker  in  splendor,  and  glances 

Leaping  in  light ! 
Sparkling  and  singing  the  swift  ripple  dances, 

Laughing  and  bright ; 
Up  through  the  heaven  the  curlew  is  flying, 

Soaring  so  high  ! 
Sweetly  his  wild  notes  are  ringing,  and  dying, 

Lost  in  the  sky. 
Glitter  the  sails  to  the  south-wind  careening, 

White-winged  and  brave ; 
Bowing  to  breeze  and  to  billow,  and  leaning 

Low  o'er  the  wave. 
Beautiful  wind,  with  the  touch  of  a  lover 

Leading  the  hours, 
Helping  the  winter-worn  world  to  recover 

All  its  lost  flowers, 
Gladly  I  hear  thy  warm  whisper  of  rapture, 

Sorrow  is  o'er  ! 
Earth  all  her  music  and  bloom  shall  recapture, 

Happy  once  more. 
1876. 


TRANSITION. 

A  CLASH  of  human  tongues  within 
Made  the  bright  room  a  dreary  jail ; 

Dull  webs  of  talk  the  idle  spin 

Turned  all  its  glow  and  color  pale. 

Outside,  the  peaceful  sunset  sky 

Was  burning,  deepening  with  the  night 

One  great  star,  glittering  still  and  high, 
Sent  o'er  the  sea  its  track  of  light. 

And  wearily  I  spoke,  and  heard 

An  empty  echo  of  reply, 
Fretting  like  some  imprisoned  bird 

That  longs  to  break  its  cage  and  fly; 

When  suddenly  the  din  seemed  stilled, 
Rarer  the  air  so  dense  before ; 

A  mystic  rapture  warmed  and  thrilled 
My  heart,  and  I  was  dull  no  more. 


TRANSITION.  69 

Joy  stole  to  me  with  sweet  surmise, 
With  sense  of  some  unmeasured  good; 

There  was  no  need  to  lift  my  eyes 
To  know  who  on  the  threshold  stood, 

More  splendid  than  the  brilliant  night 
That  looked  in  at  the  window-pane, 

Welcome  as  to  parched  fields  the  light, 
Refreshing  touch  of  summer  rain  ! 

She  moved  with  recognition  sweet, 

She  bowed  with  courtesy  calm  and  kind, 

As  graceful  as  the  waving  wheat 

That  bends  before  the  summer  wind. 

Swift  sped  the  step  of  lagging  time, 
As  if  a  breeze  of  morning  blew ; 

Clear  as  the  ring  of  Chaucer's  rhyme 
The  vapid,  idle  talking  grew ! 

I  heard  her  rich  tones  sounding  through 

The  many  voices  like  a  strain 
Of  lofty  music,  strong  and  true, 

And  perfect  joy  was  mine  again. 


70  TRANSITION. 

I  did  not  seek  her  radiant  face, 

Bright  as  spring  light  when  winter  dies, 

But  warm  across  the  crowded  space 
I  felt  the  gaze  of  noble  eyes; 

And  in  that  glorious  look,  at  last, 
I  seemed  like  one  with  sins  forgiven, 

O 

With  all  life's  pain  and  sorrow  passed, 
Entering  the  open  gates  of  heaven ! 


LEVIATHAN. 

BETWIXT  the  bleak  rock  and  the  barren  shore 
Rolled   miles  of  hoary  waves   that  hissed  with 

frost, 

And  from  the  bitter  north  with  sullen  roar 
Swept     the    wild    wind,    and    the    wild    water 
tossed. 

In  the  cold  sky,  hard,  pitiless,  and  drear, 

The    sun    dropped   down;   but    ere    the   world 
grew  gray, 

A  sweet,  reluctant  rose-tint,  sad  and  clear, 

Stained  icy  crags  and  leagues  of  leaping  spray. 

Midway  between  the  lone  rock  and  the  shore 
A  fountain  fair  sprang  skyward  suddenly, 

And  sudden  fell,  and  yet  again  once  more 
The  column  rose,  and  sank  into  the  sea. 

Silent,  ethereal,  mystic,  delicate, 

Flushed  with  delicious  glow  of  fading  rose, 


72  LEVIATHAN, 

It  grew  and  vanished,  like  some  genie  great, 
Some    wild,    thin    phantom,    woven    of    winter 
snows. 

'Twas  the  foam-fountain  of  the  mighty  whale, 
Rising  each  time  more  far  and   faint  and  dim. 

All  his  huge  strength  against  the  thundering  gale 
He  set ;  no  hurricane  could  hinder  him ! 

There  came  to  me  a  gladness  in  the  sight, 
A  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  life  so  strong, 

Daring  the  elements,  and  making  light 

Of  winter's  wrathful  power  of  wreck  and  wrong. 

I  gloried  in  his  triumph  o'er  the  vast 

Blind  rage  of  Nature.     All  her  awful  force, 

The  terror  of  her  tempest  full  she  cast 

Against  him,  yet  he  kept  his  ponderous  course. 

For  her  worst  fury  he  nor  stayed  nor  turned. 

'Twas  joy  to  think  in  such  tremendous  play, 
Through  the  sea's  cruelty,  all  unconcerned, 

Leviathan  pursued  his  placid  way ! 


TO   A  VIOLIN. 

WHAT  wondrous   power  from   heaven   upon   thee 
wrought  ? 

What  prisoned  Ariel  within  thee  broods? 
Marvel  of  human  skill  and  human  thought, 

Light  as  a  dry  leaf  in  the  winter  woods ! 

Thou  mystic  thing,  all  beautiful !  What  mind 
Conceived  thee,  what  intelligence  began 

And  out  of  chaos  thy  rare  shape  designed, 
Thou  delicate  and  perfect  work  of  man  ? 

Across  my  hands  thou  liest  mute  and  still ; 

Thou  wilt  not  breathe  to  me  thy  secret  fine ; 
Thy  matchless  tones  the  eager  air  shall  thrill 

To  no  entreaty  or  command  of  mine; 

But  comes  thy  master,  lo !  thou  yieldest  all : 
Passion  and  pathos,  rapture  and  despair ; 

To  the  soul's  need  thy  searching  voice  doth  call 
In  language  exquisite  beyond  compare, 


74  TO  A    VIOLIN. 

Till  into  speech  articulate  at  last 

Thou   seem'st  to  break,  and   thy  charmed   list 
ener  hears 
Thee  waking  echoes  of  the  vanished  past, 

Touching  the  source  of  gladness  and  of  tears; 

And  with   bowed   head   he   lets   the   sweet  wave 

roll 
Across   him,    swayed   by   that   weird   power   of 

thine, 

And  reverence  and  wonder  filled  his  soul 
That  man's  creation  should  be  so  divine. 


PHILOSOPHY. 

So  soon  the  end  must  come, 
Why  waste  in  sighs  our  breath  ? 

So  soon  our  lips  are  dumb, 
So  swift  comes  death. 

So  brief  the  time  to  smile, 

Why  darken  we  the  air 
With  frowns  and  tears,  the  while 

We  nurse  despair? 

Hold  firm  the  suffering  will 
And  bravely  thrust  it  back  ; 

Fight  with  the  powers  of  ill, 
The  legions  black. 

Stand  in  the  sunshine  sweet 
And  treasure  every  ray, 

Nor  seek  with  stubborn  feet 
The  darksome  way. 


76  PHILOSOPHY. 

Have  courage  !     Keep  good  cheer ! 

Our  longest  time  is  brief. 
To  those  who  hold  you  dear 

Bring  no^  more  grief. 

But  cherish  blisses  small, 
Grateful  for  least  delight 

That  to  your  lot  doth  fall, 
However  slight. 

And  lo  !  all  hearts  will  brin«; 

O 

Love,  to  make  glad  your  days  ; 
Blessings  untold  will  spring 
About  your  ways. 

So  shall  life  bloom  and  shine, 

Lifted  its  pain  above, 
Crowned  with  this  gift  divine, 

The  gift  of  Love. 


MEDRAKE  AND  OSPREY. 

MEDRAKE,  waving  wide  wings  low  over  the  breeze- 
rippled  bight ; 

Osprey,  soaring  superb  overhead  in  the  fathom 
less  blue, 
Graceful    and  fearless   and    strong,   do  you   thrill 

with  the  morning's  delight 
Even    as    I  ?     Brings    the    sunshine  a  message 
of  beauty  for  you  ? 

O  the  blithe   breeze  of   the   west,  blowing  sweet 

from  the  far-away  land, 

Bowing   the   grass    heavy-headed,  thick    crowd 
ing,  so  slender  and  proud ! 
O    the  warm  sea    sparkling    over  with    waves    by 

the  swift  wind  fanned  ! 

O  the  wide   sky  crystal   clear,  with   bright   isl 
ands  of  delicate  cloud ! 

Feel  you  the  waking  of  life  in  the  world   locked 

long  time  in  the  frost, 

Beautiful    birds,  with   the   light   flashing   bright 
from  your  banner-like  wings? 


78  MEDRAKE  AND   OSPREY. 

Osprey,  soaring  on  high,  in  the  depths  of  the  sky 

half  lost, 

Medrake,  hovering   low  where   the   sandpiper's 
sweet  note  rings  ! 

Nothing    am  I    to   you,  a   blot,  perhaps,    on    the 

day; 
Naught   do    I    add   to   your  joy,   but    precious 

you  are  in  my  sight; 
And  you  seem  on  your  glad  wings  to  lift  me  up 

into  the  ether  away, 

And   the   morning   divine   is  more   radiant  be 
cause  of  your  glorious  flight. 


ALONE. 

THE  lilies  clustered  fair  and  tall  : 

I  stood  outside  the  garden  wall  : 

I  saw  her  light  robe  glimmering  through 

The  fragrant  evening's  dusk  and  dew. 

She  stooped  above  the  lilies  pale; 
Up  the  clear  east  the  moon  did  sail; 
I  saw  her  bend  her  lovely  head 
O'er  her  rich  roses  blushing  red. 

Her  slender  hand  the  flowers  caressed, 
Her  touch  the  unconscious  blossoms  blessed 
The  rose  against  her  perfumed  palm 
Leaned  its  soft  cheek  in  blissful  calm. 

I  would  have  given  my  soul  to  be 
That  rose  she  touched  so  tenderly ! 
I  stood  alone,  outside  the  gate, 
And  knew  that  life  was  desolate. 


REVERIE. 

THE  white  reflection  of  the  sloop's  great  sail 

Sleeps  trembling  on  the  tide, 
In  scarlet  trim    her   crew  lean  o'er  the  rail, 

Lounging  on  either  side. 

Pale  blue  and  streaked  with  pearl  the  waters  lie, 

And  glitter  in  the  heat  ; 
The  distance  gathers  purple  bloom  where  sky 

And  glimmering  coast-line  meet. 

From  the  cove's  curving  rim  of  sandy  gray 

The  ebbing  tide  has  drained, 
Where,  mournful,  in  the  dusk  of  yesterday 

The  curlew's  voice  complained. 

Half  lost  in  hot  mirage  the  sails  afar 

Lie  dreaming,  still  and  white  ; 
No  wave  breaks,  no  wind  breathes,  the  peace  to  mar, 

Summer  is  at  its  height. 


REVERIE.  8 1 

How  many  thousand  summers  thus  have  shone 

Across  the  ocean  waste, 
Passing  in  swift  succession,  one  by  one 

By  the  fierce  winter  chased ! 

The  gray  rocks  blushing  soft  at  dawn  and  eve, 

The  green  leaves  at  their  feet, 
The  dreaming  sails,  the  crying  birds  that  grieve, 

Ever  themselves  repeat. 

And  yet  how  dear  and  how  forever  fair 

Is  Nature's  friendly  face, 
And  how  forever  new  and  sweet  and  rare 

Each  old  familiar  grace ! 

What  matters  it  that  she  will  sing  and  smile 

When  we  are  dead  and  still  ? 
Let  us  be  happy  in  her  beauty  while 

Our  hearts  have  power  to  thrill. 

Let  us  rejoice  in  every  moment  bright, 

Grateful  that  it  is  ours  ; 
Bask  in  her  smiles  with  ever  fresh  delight, 

And  gather  all  her  flowers  ; 
6 


82 


REVERIE. 


For  presently  we  part :  what  will  avail 

Her  rosy  fires  of  dawn, 
Her  noontide  pomps,  to  us,  who  fade  and  fail, 

Our  hands  from  hers  withdrawn  ? 


HEARTS-EASE. 

SOUTHWARD  still  the  sun  is  slanting  day  by  day, 
Skies   that    brim   with   gold   and   azure    slowly 

change  ; 

Beauty  waxes  cold  and  dim  and  cannot  stay, 
Into   tone   and   tint    steals    something  ill   and 
strange. 

Threat  of  evil  finds  its  way  to  every  ear, 

Lurks  in  light  and  shade  and   sounds  in  every 

breath ; 
From   the   pathless   snow-fields   comes  a  warning 

drear, 

And  the  shuddering  north-wind  carries   news  of 
death. 

Stealthy  step  of  Winter  near  and  nearer  draws  : 
Locking  earth  beneath  him,  terrible  with  might, 

Strides  he  from  the  icy  zone  without  a  pause, 
Swift  and  sure  and   fierce,  with  ready  hand  to 
smite. 


84  HEARTS-EASE. 

Dearest,   when   without  the  door  he   threatening 

stands, 

Having  rendered  desolate  the  fair  green  earth, 
And  sent  her  happy  birds  to  sunnier    lands, 
And    choked   with   sullen    snows    her   summer 
mirth, 

We  shall  sit  together,  you  and  I,  once  more, 
Warm    and    quiet,  shut   away  from   storm    and 

cold; 
We    shall    smile    to    hear  him    blustering    at   the 

door, 

While  the  room  glows  with  the  firelight's  ruddv 
gold. 

How  safe  my  heart  keeps  every  memory  sweet, 
Holding  still  your  picture,  as  you  used  to  sit, 

Ever  lovely,  full  of  grace  from  head  to  feet, 
With  that   heap  of   snowy  wool  I  watched  you 
knit ; 

With  the  lamplight  falling  on  your  cloudy  hair  — 
On  the  rich,  loose  bands  of  brown,  so  soft  to 
touch  ; 

On  the  silken  knot  of  rose  you  used  to  wear, 
On  the  thoughtful  little  face  I  love  so  much. 


HEARTHS-EASE.  85 

You  remember,  when  aloud  I  read  to  you, 

Sometimes  silence  intervened.     You  would  not 

move, 

But  in  your  radiant  cheek  the  blushes  grew, 
For   you   knew  I  paused    to    gaze  at   you,  my 
love  ! 

Paused  to  realize  my  heaven,  till  with  kind, 
Clear    and   questioning    gray   eyes    you   sought 
my  face, 

What  a  look  !    Its  kindling  glory  struck  me  blind  ; 
'Twas  a  splendor  that  illumined  all  the  place. 

What    to    us  are   Winter's    blows    and    hate    and 

wrath  ? 
And  what  matter  that  the  green  earth's  bloom 

is  fled  ? 

There  has  been  immortal  summer  in  our  path 
All  the  happy,  happy  years  since  we  were  wed. 


AUTUMN. 

ROUND  and  round  the  garden  rushed  a  sudden 
blast, 

Crying,  "  Autumn  !  Autumn  !  "  shuddering  as  it 
passed. 

Dry  poppy-head  and  larkspur-spike  shrill  whis 
tled  in  the  wind, 

Together  whispering,  "  Autumn !  and  Winter  is 
behind!" 

Tossed  the  sumach  pennons,  green  and  gold  and 

red  ; 

Flapped  the  awning  scallops  loudly  overhead ; 
Swung  the  empty  hammocks  lightly  to  and  fro ; 
While  the  crickets  simmered,  chirruping  below. 

Keen  the  star  of   evening  hung  glittering  in  the 

sky, 

Red  the  west  was  burning,  deepening  silently; 
Summer  constellations  slow  wheeling  out  of  sight, 
Great  Orion  shining  clear  upon  the  face  of  night. 


A  UTUMN.  87 

Sadly  sang  the  ocean,  sighing  in  the  dark, 
Far  away  the  light-house  lit  a  sudden  spark. 
Black  against  the  sunset  sails  were  gliding  past ; 
Earth  and   sea  and  sky  were  saying,  "  Autumn 's 
here  at  last  !  " 

Soon  will  snow  be  flying,  soon  will  tempests  roar, 
Soon   the   freezing    north   will    lash   us   bitter   as 

before ; 
I  heard   the   waters   whisper,  I   heard   the  winds 

complain, 
But  sweet,  reluctant  Summer  I  knew  would  come 

again. 


SONG. 

LOVE,  art  thou  weary  with  the  sultry  day? 

Fain  would  I  be  the  cool  and  delicate  air 
About  the  whiteness  of  thy  brow  to  play, 

And  softly,  lightly  stir  thy  cloudy  hair. 

llpon  thy  head  doth  the  fierce  winter  smite, 
And  shudderest  thou  in  darkness  cold  to  be  ? 

I  would  I  were  the  coming  of  the  light, 

Shelter,  and  radiant  warmth  to  comfort  thee. 

I  would  be  fire  and  fragrance,  light  and  air, 
All  gracious  things  that  serve  thee  at  thy  need ; 

Music,  to  lift  thy  heart  above  all  care  — 

The  wise   and   charming   book   that   thou   dost 
read. 

There  is  no  power  that  cheers  and  blesses  thee 
But  I  do  envy  it,  beneath  the  sun ! 

Thy  health,  thy  rest,  thy  refuge  I  would  be; 
Thy  heaven  on  earth,  thine  every  good  in  one. 


SUBMISSION. 

THE  sparrow  sits  and  sings,  and  sings  ; 
Softly  the  sunset's  lingering  light 
Lies  rosy  over  rock  and  turf, 
And  reddens  where  the  restless  surf 
Tosses  on  high  its  plumes  of  white. 

Gently  and  clear  the  sparrow  sings, 
While  twilight  steals  across  the  sea, 
And  still  and  bright  the  evening-star 
Twinkles  above  the  golden  bar 
That  in  the  west  lies  quietly. 

Oh,  steadfastly  the  sparrow  sings, 

And  sweet  the  sound  •  and  sweet  the  touch 
Of  wooing  winds  ;  and  sweet  the  sight 
Of  happy  Nature's  deep  delight 

In  her  fair  spring,  desired  so  much ! 

But  while  so  clear  the  sparrow  sings 
A  cry  of  death  is  in  my  ear; 


QO  SUBMISSION. 

The  crashing  of  the  riven  wreck, 
Breakers  that  sweep  the  shuddering   deck, 
And  sounds  of  agony  and  fear. 

How  is  it  that  the  birds  can  sing  ? 
Life  is  so  full  of  bitter  pain  ; 

Hearts  are  so  wrung  with  hopeless  grief ; 

Woe  is  so  long  and  joy  so  brief; 
Nor  shall  the  lost  return  again. 

Though  rapturously  the  sparrow  sings, 
No  bliss  of  Nature  can  restore 

The  friends  whose  hands  I  clasped  so  warm, 
Sweet  souls  that  through  the  night  and  storm 
Fled  from  the  earth  for  evermore. 

Yet  still  the  sparrow  sits  and  sings, 
Till  longing,  mourning,  sorrowing  love, 

Groping  to  find  what  hope   may  be 

Within  death's  awful  mystery, 
Reaches  its  empty  arms  above ; 

And  listening,  while  the  sparrow  sings, 
And  soft  the  evening  shadows  fall, 

Sees,  through  the  crowding  tears  that  blind, 
A  little  light,  and  seems  to  find 
And  clasp  God's  hand,  who  wrought  it  all. 

\ 


SONG. 

I  WORE  your  roses  yesterday  : 

About  this  light  robe's  folds  of  white, 
Wherein  their  gathered  sweetness  lay, 

Still  clings  their  perfume  of  delight. 

And  all  in  vain  the  warm  wind  sweeps 
These  airy  folds  like  vapor  fine, 

Among  them  still  the  odor  sleeps, 
And  haunts  me  with  a  dream  divine. 

So  to  my  heart  your  memory  clings, 
So  sweet,  so  rich,  so  delicate  : 

Eternal  summer-time  it  brings, 
Defying  all  the  storms  of  fate ; 

A  power  to  turn  the  darkness  bright, 
Till  life  with  matchless  beauty  glows ; 

Each  moment  touched  with  tender  light, 
And  every  thought  of  you  a  rose  ! 


^     SPRING  AGAIN. 

I  STOOD  on  the  height  in  the  stillness 
And  the  planet's  outline  scanned, 

And  half  was  drawn  with  the  line  of  sea 
And  half  with  the  far  blue  land. 

With  wings  that  caught  the  sunshine 
In  the  crystal  deeps  of  the  sky, 

Like  shapes  of  dreams,  the  gleaming  gulls 
Went  slowly  floating  by. 

Below  me  the  boats  in  the  harbor 

Lay  still,  with  their  white  sails  furled ; 

Sighing  away  into  silence, 

The  breeze  died  off  the  world. 

On  the  weather-worn,  ancient  ledges 
Peaceful  the  calm  light  slept ; 

And  the  chilly  shadows,  lengthening, 
Slow  to  the  eastward  crept. 


SPRING  AGAIN.  93 

The  snow  still  lay  in  the  hollows, 

And  where  the  salt  waves  met 
The  iron  rock,  all  ghastly  white 

The  thick  ice  glimmered  yet. 

But  the  smile  of  the  sun  was  kinder. 

The  touch  of  the  air  was  sweet ; 
The  pulse  of  the  cruel  ocean  seemed 

Like  a  human  heart  to  beat. 

Frost-locked,  storm-beaten,  and  lonely, 
In  the  midst  of  the  wintry  main, 

Our  bleak  rock  yet  the  tidings  heard  : 
"There  shall  be  spring  again!" 

Worth  all  the  waiting  and  watching, 
The  woe  that  the  winter  wrought, 

Was  the  passion  of  gratitude  that  shook 
My  soul  at  the  blissful  thought ! 

Soft  rain  and  flowers  and  sunshine, 
Sweet  winds  and  brooding  skies, 

Quick-flitting  birds  to  fill  the  air 
With  clear,  delicious  cries  ; 


94  SPRING  AGAIN. 

And  the  warm  sea's  mellow  murmur 

Resounding  day  and  night ; 
A  thousand    shapes   and  tints  and  tones 

Of  manifold  delight, 

Nearer  and  ever  nearer 

Drawing  with  every  day ! 
But  a  little  longer  to  wait   and  watch 

'Neath  skies  so  cold  and  gray; 

And  hushed  is  the  roar  of  the  bitter  north 
Before  the  might  of  the  Spring, 

And  up  the  frozen  slope  of  the  world 
Climbs  Summer,  triumphing. 


SONNET. 

As  happy  dwellers  by  the  sea-side  hear 
In  every  pause  the  sea's  mysterious  sound, 
The  infinite  murmur,  solemn  and  profound, 

Incessant,  filling  all  the  atmosphere, 

Even  so  I  hear  you,  for  you  do  surround 
My  newly-waking  life,  and  break  for  aye 

About  the  viewless  shores,  till    they  resound 
With  echoes  of  God's  greatness  night  and  day. 

Refreshed  and  glad  I  feel  the  full  flood-tide 
Fill  every  inlet  of  my  waiting  soul, 
Long-striving,  eager  hope,  beyond  control, 

For  help  and  strength  at  last  is  satisfied. 

And  you  exalt  me,  like  the  sounding  sea, 
/With  ceaseless  whispers  of  eternity. 


SONG. 

ABOVE  in  her  chamber  her  voice  I  hear 

Singing  so  clear ; 

Among  her  flowers  I  stand  and  wait, 
Dreaming  I  lean  on  the  garden  gate, 

In  joy  and  fear. 

Softly  the  light  robes  she  doth  wear 
Sweep  down  the  stair ; 

0  eager  heart,  less  wildly  beat,  — 

1  shall  behold  her,  stately,  sweet, 

All  good  and  fair ! 

Nearer,  her  voice !     In  a  moment  more 

Through  the  open  door 
Come  grace  and  beauty  and  all  delight 
The  round  world  holds  to  my  dazzled  sight, 

The  threshold  o'er! 

She  holds  me  mute  with  her  beaming  eyes 

Full  of  bright  surprise  ; 
Still  grow  the  pulses  her  coming  shook, 
In  the  gentle  might  of  her  golden  look 

My  heaven  lies  ! 


FOREBODING. 

CRICKET,  why  wilt  thou  crush  me  with  thy  cry  ? 
How  can  such  light  sound  weigh  so  heavily  ! 
Behold  the  grass  is  sere,  the  cold  dews  fall, 
The  world  grows  empty  —  yes,  I  know  it  all, 
The  knell  of  joy  I  hear. 

O  long  ago  the  swallows  hence  have  flown, 

And  sadly  sings  the  sea  in  undertone  ; 

The    wild    vine    crimsons    o'er    the    rough    gray 

stone ; 

The  stars  of  winter  rise,  the  cool  winds  moan  ; 
Fast  wanes  the  golden  year. 

O  cricket,  cease  thy  sorrowful  refrain  ! 
This  summer's  glory  comes  not  back  again, 
But  others  wait  with  flowers  and  sun  and  rain ; 
Why  wakest  thou  this  haunting  sense  of  pain, 
Of  loss,  regret,  and  fear  ? 
7 


98  FOREBODING. 

Clear    sounds    thy   note    above    the   waves'    low 

sigh, 
Clear  through   the   breathing  wind   that  wanders 

by, 

Clear  through  the  rustle  of  dry  grasses  tall  \ 
Thou  chantest,  "Joy  is  dead!"  I  know  it  all, 
The  winter's  woe  is  near. 


HOMAGE. 

NAY,  comrade,  't  is  a  weary  path  we  tread 
Through   this  world's   desert   spaces,  dull   and 
dry, 

And  long  ago  died  out  youth's  morning-red, 
And  low  the  sunset  fires  before  us  lie  : 

And  you   are   worn,  though   brave   the   face   you 

wear. 

Forbear  the  deprecating  gesture,  take 
The  honest  admiration  that  I  bear 

Your    genius,    and    be    mute,    for    friendship's 
sake. 

Up  to  your  lips  I  lift  a  generous  wine, 

Pure,  perfumed,  potent,  living,  sparkling  bright, 

A  deep  cup,  brimming  with  a  draught  divine ; 
Drink,  then,  and  be  refreshed  with  my  delight. 

It  gladdens  you  ?     You  know  the  gift  sincere  ? 
You    dreamed    not    life    yet   held   a   thing    so 
sweet  ? 


100  HOMAGE. 

Nay,  noble  friend,  your  thanks  I  will  not  hear, 
But  I  shall  cast  my  roses  at  your  feet, 

And  go  my  way  rejoicing  that  't  is  I 

Who  recognize,  acknowledge,  judge  you  best, 

Proud  that  a  star  so  steadfast  lights  the  sky, 
And  in  the  power  of  blessing  you  most  blest. 


DISCONTENT. 

THERE  is  no  day  so  dark 

But  through  the  murk  some  ray  of  hope  may  steal, 
Some  blessed  touch  from  Heaven  that  we  might 
feel, 

If  we   but  chose  to  mark. 

We  shut  the  portals  fast, 
And  turn  the  key  and  let  no  sunshine  in  ; 
Yet  to  the  worst  despair  that  comes  through  sin 

God's  light  shall  reach  at   last. 

We  slight  our  daily  joy, 
Make  much  of  our  vexations,  thickly  set 
Our  path  with  thorns  of  discontent,  and   fret 

At  our  fine  gold's  alloy, 

Till  bounteous  Heaven  might  frown 
At  such   ingratitude,  and,  turning,  lay 
On  our  impatience  burdens  that   would  weigh 

Our  aching  shoulders  down. 


102  DISCONTENT. 

,. :  :«i     /'\Ve  shed  too  many  tears, 
And  sigh  too  sore,  and  yield  us   up  to  woe, 
As  if  God  had  not  planned  the  way  we  go 
And  counted  out  our  years. 

Can  we  not  be  content, 

And  lift  our  foreheads   from  the  ignoble  dust 
Of  these  complaining  lives,  and  wait  with  trust, 

Fulfilling  Heaven's  intent? 

Must  we  have  wealth  and  power, 
Fame,  beauty,  all  things  ordered  to  our  mind  ? 
Nay,  all  these  things  leave  happiness  behind  ! 

Accept  the  sun  and  shower, 

The  humble  joys  that  bless, 
Appealing  to  indifferent  hearts  and  cold 
With  delicate  touch,  striving  to  reach  and  hold 

Our  hidden  consciousness ; 

And  see  how  everywhere 

/    Love  comforts,  strengthens,  helps,  and  saves  us  all ; 
What  opportunities  of  good  befall 
To  make  life  sweet  and  fair ! 


ALREADY. 


ALREADY  the  dandelions 

Are  changed  into  vanishing  ghosts  ; 
Already  the  tall  ripe  grasses 

Are  standing  in  serried  hosts, 

Bowing  with   stately  gesture 

Whenever  the  warm  winds  blow, 

Like  the  spear-heads  of  an  army 
Charging  against  the  foe. 

Already  the  nestling  sparrows 
Are  clothed  in  a  mist  of   gray, 

And  under  the  breast  of  the  swallow 
The  .warm  eggs  stir  to-day. 

Already  the  cricket  is  busy 
With  hints  of  soberer  days, 

And  the   golden-rod  lights  slowly 
Its  torch  for  the  autumn  blaze. 


104  ALREADY. 

O  brief,  bright  smile  of  summer ! 

O  days  divine  and  dear! 
The  voices  of  winter's  sorrow 

Already  we  can  hear. 

And  we  know  that  the  frosts  will  find  us, 
And  the  smiling  skies  grow  rude, 

While  \ve  look  in  the  face  of  Beauty, 
And  worship  her  every  mood. 


GUESTS. 

SUNFLOWER  tall  and  hollyhock,  that  wave  in  the 

wind  together, 
Corn-flower,  poppy,    and   marigold,    blossoming 

fair  and  fine, 
Delicate  sweet-peas,  glowing  bright   in   the   quiet 

autumn  weather, 

While    over    the    fence,    on    fire    with    bloom, 
climbs  the  nasturtium  vine! 

• 

Quaint    little    wilderness    of     flowers,    straggling 

hither  and  thither  — 
Morning-glories     tangled     about     the    larkspur 

gone  to  seed, 

Scarlet  runners    that   burst  all   bounds,  and  wan 
der,  heaven  knows  whither, 
And  lilac  spikes  of   bergamot,  as  thick  as  any 
weed. 


106  GUESTS. 

And   oh,  the   bees   and   the   butterflies,  the  hum 
ming-birds  and  sparrows, 
That    over   the    garden   waver   and   chirp   and 

flutter  the  livelong  day! 
Humming-birds,  that   dart   in   the  sun  like  green 

and  golden  arrows, 

Butterflies   like   loosened   flowers  blown  off  by 
the  wind  in  play. 

Look    at    the    red    nasturtium    flower,   drooping, 

bending,  and  swaying; 
Out    the   gold-banded   humble-bee    breaks   and 

goes  booming  anew! 
Hark,   what   the   sweet-voiced   fledgling   sparrows 

low  to  themselves  are  saying, 
Pecking  my  golden  oats  where  the  corn-flowers 
gleam  so  blue  ! 

•* 

Welcome,    a    thousand    times   welcome,   ye    dear 

and  delicate  neighbors  — 
Bird  and  bee  and  butterfly,  and  humming-bird 

fairy  fine ! 

Proud  am  I  to  offer  you  a  field  for  your  grace 
ful  labors ; 

All   the  honey  and  all  the  seeds  are  yours  in 
this  garden  of  mine. 


GUESTS. 

I  sit  on   the    door-step    and  watch   you.     Beyond 

lies  the  infinite  ocean, 
Sparkling,  shimmering,  whispering,  rocking  itself 

to  rest; 
And   the  world   is  full  of  perfume  and  color  and 

beautiful  motion, 

And    each    new  hour   of    this   sweet    day   the 
happiest  seems  and  best. 


MUTATION. 


ABOUT  your  window's  happy  height 
The  roses  wove  their  airy  screen  : 

More  radiant  than  the  blossoms  bright 
Looked  your  fair  face  between. 

The  glowing  summer  sunshine  laid 

Its  touch  on  field  and  flower  and  tree ; 

But  't  was  your  golden  smile  that  made 
The  warmth  that  gladdened  me. 

The  summer  withered  from  the  land, 
The  vision  from  the  window  passed  : 

Blank  Sorrow  looked  at  me  ;  her  hand 
Sought  mine  and  clasped  it  fast. 

The  bitter  wind  blows  keen  and  drear, 
Stinging  with  winter's  flouts  and  scorns, 

And  where  the  roses  breathed  I  hear 
The  rattling  of  the  thorns. 


FAREWELL. 

THE  crimson  sunset  faded  into  gray  j 

Upon  the  murmurous  sea  the  twilight  fell ; 
The  last  warm  breath  of  the  delicious  day 
Passed  with  a  mute  farewell. 

Above  my  head,  in  the  soft  purple  sky, 

A  wild  note  sounded  like  a  shrill-voiced  bell ; 
Three  gulls  met,  wheeled,  and   parted  with  a  cry 
That  seemed  to  say,  "  Farewell !  " 

I  watched  them :  one  sailed  east,  and  one  soared 

west, 

And  one  went  floating  south ;  while  like  a  knell 
That  mournful  cry  the  empty  sky  possessed, 
"Farewell,  farewell,  farewell!" 

"Farewell!"    I   thought,   it    is    the    earth's    one 

speech ; 

All  human  voices  the  sad  chorus  swell ; 
Though  mighty  Love  to  heaven's   high  gate  may 
reach, 

Yet  must  he  say,  "  Farewell !  " 


IIO  FAREWELL 

The  rolling  world  is  girdled  with  the  sound, 

Perpetually  breathed  from  all  who  dwell 
Upon  its  bosom,  for  no  place  is  found 

Where  is  not  heard,  "  Farewell !  " 

"  Farewell,  farewell !  "  —  from  wave   to  wave   't  is 

tossed, 

From  wind  to  wind  :  earth  has  one  tale  to  tell ; 
All  other  sounds  are  dulled  and  drowned  and  lost 
In  this  one  cry,  "  Farewell !  " 


DOUBT. 

THE  wild  rose  blooms  for  the  sun  of  June, 

The  tide  ebbs  slowly  out; 
I  hear  in  the  dreamy  afternoon 

The  far-off  fisher's  shout. 

The  sand  lies  gray  and  the  sea  leaps  blue, 

The  tide  ebbs  slowly  out ; 
O  lover  mine,  who  called  to  you, 

That  you  left  me  here  to  doubt  ? 

The  white  gull's  wing  sweeps  the  whiter  foam, 

The  tide  ebbs  slowly  out; 
'Tis  not  your  white  sail,  yearning  home 

To  put  my  fears  to  rout! 

The  rose  may  blush  and  the  sun  may  shine, 

The  tide  ebbs  slowly  out ; 
The  world  is  good  if  you  are  mine, 

Ashes  and  dust  without ! 


SUNSET  SONG. 

FAR  off  against  the  solemn  sky 

Black  lie  the  city's  towers; 
Before  me  rustles,  dim  and  dry, 

My  field  of  golden  flowers. 

How  thin  the  wind's  cool  whisper  draws 
Through  withered  leaf  and  stalk  ! 

Is  this  the  breeze  that  once  would  pause 
With  blossoms  bright  to  talk  ? 

Dark  lies  the  land  in  twilight  sad, 

No  bird  sings  in  its  bowers ; 
Where  is  the  glory  once  that  clad 

My  field  of  golden  flowers  ? 

The  distant  city  rings  its  bells, 
Like  memory's  tender  chime ; 

O  sweet,  sweet  bells,  ye  speak  farewells 
To  life's  enchanted  prime  ! 


SUNSET  SOArG. 


Dark  lies  the  land  in  twilight  cold, 
Gone  are  the  sumptuous  hours  ; 

The  city  sleeps,  and  shadows  fold 
My  field  of  golden  flowers. 


"LOVE   SHALL   SAVE  US   ALL." 


O  PILGRIM,  comes  the  night  so  fast? 

Let  not  the  dark  thy  heart  appall, 
Though  loom  the  shadows  vague  and  vast, 

For  Love  shall  save  us  all. 

There  is  no  hope  but  this  to  see 

Through  tears  that  gather  fast  and  fall ; 

Too  great  to  perish  Love  must  be, 
And  Love  shall  save  us  all. 

Have  patience  with  our  loss  and  pain, 
Our  troubled  space  of  days  so  small ; 

We  shall  not  reach  our  arms  in  vain, 
For  Love  shall  save  us  all. 

O  Pilgrim,  but  a  moment  wait, 

And  we  shall  hear  our  darlings  call 

Beyond  death's  mute  and  awful  gate, 
And  Love  shall  save  us  all ! 


POEMS   FOR   CHILDREN. 


LITTLE  GUSTAVA. 

LITTLE  Gustava  sits  in  the  sun, 
Safe  in  the  porch,  and  the  little  drops  run 
From  the  icicles  under  the  eaves  so  fast, 
For  the  bright  spring  sun  shines  warm  at  last, 
And  glad  is  little  Gustava. 

She  wears  a  quaint  little  scarlet  cap, 
And  a  little  green  bowl   she  holds   in  her  lap, 
Filled  with  bread  and  milk  to  the  brim, 
And  a  wreath  of  marigolds  round  the  rim  : 
"  Ha,  ha  !  "  laughs  little  Gustava. 

Up  comes  her  little  gray,  coaxing  cat, 

With    her    little    pink    nose,    and    she    mews, 

"What's  that?" 

Gustava  feeds  her,  —  she  begs  for  more  ; 
And  a  little  brown  hen  walks  in    at  the  door  : 
"  Good-day  !  "  cries  little  Gustava. 

She  scatters  crumbs  for  the  little  brown  hen. 
There  comes  a  rush  and  a  flutter,  and  then 


Il8  LITTLE    GUSTAVA. 

Down  fly  her  little  white  doves  so  sweet, 
With  their  snowy  wings  and  their  crimson  feet : 
"  Welcome  !  "  cries  little  Gustava. 

So  dainty  and  eager  they  pick  up  the  crumbs. 
But  who  is  this  through  the  door-way  comes  ? 
Little  Scotch  terrier,  little  dog  Rags, 
Looks  in  her  face,  and  his  funny  tail  wags  : 
"Ha,  ha!"  laughs  little  Gustava. 

"  You  want  some  breakfast,  too  ?  "  and  down 
She  sets  her  bowl  on  the  brick  floor  brown; 
And  little  dog  Rags  drinks  up  her  milk, 
While  she  strokes  his  shaggy  locks,  like  silk : 
"  Dear  Rags  !  "  says  little  Gustava. 

Waiting  without  stood  sparrow  and  crow, 
Cooling  their  feet  in  the  melting  snow  : 
"  Won't  you  come  in,  good  folk  ? "  she  cried. 
But  they  were  too  bashful,  and  stayed  outside, 
Though  "  Pray  come  in  ! "  cried  Gustava. 

So  the  last  she  threw  them,  and  knelt  on  the  mat 
With  doves  and  biddy  and  dog  and  cat. 
And  her  mother  came  to  the  open  house-door : 
"  Dear  little  daughter,  I  bring  you  some  more, 
My  merry  little  Gustava ! " 


LITTLE   GUSTAVA. 


Kitty  and  terrier,  biddy  and  doves, 
All  things  harmless  Gustava  loves. 
The  shy,  kind  creatures  'tis  joy  to  feed, 
And  oh,  her  breakfast  is  sweet  indeed 
To  happy  little  Gustava  ! 


THE   DOUBLE    SUNFLOWER. 

THE   sunflowers   hung   their   banners   out   in   the 

sweet  September  weather ; 
A    stately    company   they    stood    by   the    garden 

fence  together, 
And    looked    out   on    the    shining  sea  that  bright 

and  brighter  grew, 
And   slowly  bowed   their  golden   heads   to   every 

wind  that  blew. 

But    the    double    sunflower    bloomed    apart,    far 

prouder  than  the  rest, 
And   by  his   crown's    majestic  weight   he   seemed 

almost  oppressed. 
He  held  himself   aloof  upon  his  tall  and  slender 

stem, 
And    gloried    in     the     splendor    of     his     double 

diadem. 

All  clothed  in  bells  of  lovely  blue,  a  morning- 
glory  vine 

Could  find  no  friendly  stick  or  stalk  about  which 
she  might  twine  ; 


THE   DOUBLE  SUNFLOWER.  121 

And  prone  upon  the  ground  near  by,  with  blos 
soms  red  as  fire, 

A  scarlet  runner  lay  for  lack  of  means  to  clam 
ber  higher. 

They    both    perceived    the     sunflower    tall    who 

proudly  stood  aside; 
Nothing  to   them  was   his   grand   air  of  majesty 

and  pride ; 
With   one    accord   they  charged    at   him,  and   up 

his  stalk  they  ran, 
And  straight  to  hang  their  red  and  blue  all  over 

him  began. 

Oh,  then  he  was  magnificent,  all   azure,  gold,  and 

flame  ! 
But,  woe  is  me  !  an  autumn  breeze  from  out  the 

northwest  came  ; 
With  all  their  leaves  and  flowers  the  vines  about 

him  closely  wound, 
And  with    that    keen  wind's    help    at    once    they 

dragged  him  to  the  ground. 

I  found  him  there  next  morning,  his  pomp  com 
pletely  wrecked, 

His  prostrate  form  all  gorgeously  with  tattered 
blooms  bedecked. 


122  THE  DOUBLE  SUNFLOWER. 

"  Alas  !  "  I  said,  "  no  power  on  earth  your  glory 

can  recall ! 
Did    you   not   know,    dear   sunflower,   that   pride 

must  have  a  fall  ?  " 

I   raised   him  up   and   bore   him  in,  and,  ere   he 

faded  quite, 
In   the   corner  he  stood  splendid  a  while  for  our 

delight ; 
But  his  humbler,  single  brethren,  in    the   garden, 

every  one, 
With  shining  disks  and  golden  rays  stayed  gazing 

at  the  sun. 


THE   SHAG. 

"  WHAT  is  that  great  bird,  sister,  tell  me, 
Perched  high  on  the  top  of  the  crag  ?  " 

"  'T  is  the  cormorant,  dear  little  brother ; 
The  fishermen  call  it  the  shag." 

"  But  what  does  it  there,  sister,  tell  me, 
Sitting  lonely  against  the  black  sky  ? " 

"  It  has  settled  to  rest,  little  brother ; 
It  hears  the  wild  gale  wailing  high." 

"  But  I  am  afraid  of  it,  sister, 

For  over  the  sea  and  the  land 
It  gazes,  so  black  and  so  silent !  " 

"Little  brother,  hold  fast  to  my  hand." 

"  Oh  what  was  that,  sister  ?   The  thunder  ? 

Did  the  shag  bring  the  storm  and  the  cloud, 
The  wind  and  the  rain  and  the  lightning?" 
"  Little  brother,  the  thunder  roars  loud. 


124  THE  SHAG. 

"  Run  fast,  for  the  rain  sweeps  the  ocean ; 
Look  !   over  the  light-house  it  streams  \ 
And  the  lightning  leaps  red,  and  above  us 
The  gulls  fill  the  air  with  their  screams." 

O'er  the  beach,  o'er  the  rocks,  running  swiftly, 
The  little  white  cottage  they  gain  ; 

And  safely  they  watch  from  the  window 
The  dance  and  the  rush  of  the  rain. 

But  the  shag  kept  his  place  on  the  headland, 
And  when  the  brief  storm  had  gone  by, 

He  shook  his  loose  plumes,  and  they  saw  him 
Rise  splendid  and  strong  in  the  sky. 

Clinging  fast  to  the  gown  of  his  sister, 

The  little  boy  laughed  as  he  flew  : 
"  He  is  gone  with  the  wind"  and  the  lightning ! 
And  —  I  am  not  frightened,  —  are  you  ?  " 


PERSEVERANCE. 

OUT  I  went  in  the  morning,  to  look  at  my  garden 

gay: 
Everything  shone  with  the  dew-drops  that  sparkling 

and  trembling  lay 
Scattered  to  left  and  to  right,  and  the  webs  of  the 

spiders  were  hung 
Thickly  with   pearls  and   diamonds;   light   in  the 

wind  they  swung. 

Down  in  a  corner,  my  sunflower,  tall  as  a  lilac-tree, 
Shook  out  his  tattered  golden  flags,  and  bowed  and 

nodded  to  me. 
Rather  heavy-headed  was  he  ;   for  that  I  did  not 

care, 
For  he  blazed  all  over  with  flowers,  though  rather 

the  worse  for  wear. 

And  under   the   sunflower,  on   the   fence,  a   little 

brown  bird   sat, 
Trying  to  sing ;  you  never  heard  such  a  queer  little 

song  as  that ! 


1 26  PERSE  VERANCE. 

A  soft  brown  baby  sparrow,  without  any  tail  at  all, 
Trying  his  voice  as  he  sat  alone  beneath  the  sun 
flower  tall. 

He   could  n't    sing    in   the    least,    you   know ;   he 

quavered  and  quavered  again, 
Seeking  so  hard  to  recollect  his  father's  beautiful 

strain ! 
But  his  young   voice   was   hoarse   and   weak  ;  he 

could  not  find  the  tune 
He  used  to  hear  above  the  nest  in  the  happy  days 

of  June. 

But  not  at  all  was  he  daunted  ;  he  warbled  it  o'er 

and   o'er, 
And  every  time  I  thought  it  grew  more   comical 

than  before. 
The  very  sunflower  seemed  to  laugh  at  the  fluffy 

little  bird, 
His  broad,  bright  faces  seemed  to  say,  "  Was  ever 

such  music  heard  !  " 

I  said,  "  Never  mind,  my  darling ;  you  '11  conquer 

it  by  and  by, 
For  never  baby  or  bird  could  fail,  with  so  much 

courage  to  try  !  " 


PERSEVERANCE.  I2/ 

So  I  left  him  there,  still  singing,  and  I  heard  him 

every  day 
Doing  bravely  his  little  best,  till  winter  drove  him 

away 

The  dear  bird  and  the  golden  flower !  I  mourned 
when  chilly  snow 

Sent  south  the  small  musician  and  laid  the  sun 
flower  low. 

But  I  was  sure,  when  in  the  spring  the  sparrows 
should  return, 

His  singing  would  be  perfect,  for  he  strove  so 
hard  to  learn. 


THE  FLOCK  OF   DOVES. 

THE  world  was  like  a  wilderness 

Of  soft  and  downy  snow ; 
The  trees  were  plumed  with  feathery  flakes, 

And  the  ground  was  white  below. 

Came  the  little  mother  out  to  the  gate 
To  watch  for  her  children    three ; 

Her  hood  was  red  as  a   poppy-flower, 
And  rosy  and  young  was  she. 

She  took  the  snow  in  her  cunning  hands 

As  waiting  she  stood  alone, 
And  lo  !  in  a  moment,  beneath  her  touch, 

A  fair  white  dove  had  grown. 

A  flock  she  wrought,  and  on  the  fence 

Set  them  in  bright  array, 
With  folded  wings,  or  pinions  spread, 

Ready  to  fly  away. 


THE  FLOCK  OF  DOVES.  1 29 

And  then  she  hid  by  the  pine-tree  tall, 
For  the  children's  tones  rang  sweet, 

As  home  from  school,  through  the  drifts  so  light, 
They  sped  with  merry  feet. 

"  Oh,  Nannie,  Nannie  !     See  the  fence 

Alive  with  doves  so  white  ! " 
"  Oh,  hush  !  don't  frighten  them  away  !  " 
They  whisper  with  delight. 

They  crept  so  soft,  they  crept  so  still, 

The  wondrous  sight  to  see  ; 
The  little  mother  pushed  the  gate, 

And  laughed  out  joyfully. 

She  clasped  them  close,  she  kissed  their  cheeks, 

And  lips  so  sweet  and  red. 
"  The  birds  are  only  made  of  snow  ! 
You  are  my  doves,"  she  said. 
9 


ROBIN'S  RAIN-SONG. 

O  ROBIN,  pipe  no  more  of  rain  ! 

'T  is  four  days  since  we  saw  the  sun, 
And  still  the  misty  window  pane 

Is  loud  with  drops  that  leap  and  run. 

Four  days  ago  the  sky  was  clear, 
But  when  my  mother  heard  you  call, 

She  said,  "  That  's  Robin's  rain-song,  dear  : 
Oh,  well  he  knows  when  rain  will  fall !  " 

Fair  .was  the  morning,  and  I  wept 
Because  she  would  not  let  me  stray 

Into  the  woods  for  flowers,  but  kept 
My  feet  from  wandering  away. 

And  I  was  vexed  to  hear  you  cry 
So  sweetly  of  the  coming  storm, 

And  watched  with  brimming  eyes  the  sky 
Grow  cold  and  dim  from  clear  and  warm. 


ROBIN'S  RAIN-SONG.  131 

It  seemed  to  me  you  brought  it  all 
With  that  incessant,  plaintive  note  ; 

And  still  you  call  the  drops  to  fall 
Upon  your  brown  and  scarlet  coat. 

How  nice  to  be  a  bird  like  you, 

And  let  the  rain  come  pattering  down, 

Nor  mind  a  bit  to  be  wet  through, 
Nor  fear  to  spoil  one's  only  gown  ! 

But  since  I  cannot  be  a  bird, 

Sweet  Robin,  pipe  no  more  of  rain ! 

Your  merrier  music  is  preferred  ; 
Forget  at  last  that  sad  refrain ! 

And  tell  us  of  the  sunshine,  dear  — 

I  'm  wild  to  be  abroad  again, 
Seeking  for  blossoms  far  and  near : 

O  Robin,  pipe  no  more  of  rain  ! 


THE  WANING  MOON. 

THE  moon  is  tired  and  old ; 
In  the  morning  darkness  cold 
She  drifts  up  the  paling  sky, 
With  cheek  flushed  wearily. 

A  little  longer,  and  lo  ! 
She  is  lost  in  the  sun's  bright  glow ; 
A  thin  shell,  pearly  and  pale, 
'Mid  soft  white  clouds  that  sail. 

Art  faint  and  sad,  dear  moon  ? 
Gladness  shall  find  thee  soon  ! 
Sorry  art  thou  to  wane  ? 
Thou  shalt  be  young  again  ! 

And  beautiful  as  before 

Thou  shalt  live  in  the  sky  once  more ; 

From  the  baby  crescent  small 

Thou  shalt  grow  to  the  golden  ball : 


THE    WANING  MOON.  133 

And  again  will  the  children  shout, 
"  Oh  look  at  the  moon,  look  out !  " 
For  thou  shalt  be  great  and  bright 
As  when  God  first  made  night. 


THE  KINGFISHER. 

COULD  you  have  heard  the  kingfisher  scream  and 

scold  at  me 
When    I   went   this   morning   early   down   to   the 

smiling  sea  ! 
He  clamored   so   loud  and   harshly,  I  laughed  at 

him  for  his  pains, 
And   off   he  flew  with  a  shattered    note,  like   the 

sound  of  falling  chains. 

He  perched  on  the  rock  above  me,  and  kept  up 
such  a  din, 

And  looked  so  fine  with  his  collar  snow-white  be 
neath  his  chin, 

And  his  cap  of  velvet,  black  and  bright,  and  his 
jacket  of  lovely  blue, 

I  looked,  admired,  and  called  to  him,  "  Good 
morning  !  How  do  you  do  ?  " 

But  his  kingship  was  so  offended !     He  had  n't  a 

pleasant  word, 
Only  the  Grossest  jargon  ever  screamed  by  a  bird. 


THE  KINGFISHER,  135 

The  gray  sandpiper  on  one  leg  stood  still  in  sheer 

surprise, 
And  gazed  at  me,  and  gazed  at  him,  with  shining 

bead-black  eyes, 

And   pensively   sent   up   so  sweet   and  delicate  a 

note, 
Ringing  so    high  and    clear  from  out   her  dainty, 

mottled  throat, 
That  echo  round   the  silent  shore  caught   up  the 

clear  refrain, 
And  sent  the  charming  music  back  again,  and  yet 

again. 

And  the   brown   song-sparrow  on   the  wall    made 

haste  with  such  a  song, 
To  try  and  drown  that  jarring  din  !  but  it  was  all 

too  strong. 
And  the   swallows,  like    a   steel-blue  flash,  swept 

past  and  cried  aloud, 
"  Be   civil,    my   dear   kingfisher,    you  're   far   too 

grand  and  proud." 

But  it  was  n't  of  any  use  at  all,  he  was  too  much 
displeased, 

And  only  by  my  absence  could  his  anger  be  ap 
peased. 


136  THE  KINGFISHER. 

So  I  wandered  off,  and  as  I  went  I  saw  him  flutter 

down, 
And  take  his  place  once  more  upon  the  seaweed 

wet  and  brown. 

And  there  he  watched  for  his  breakfast,  all  undis 
turbed  at  last, 

And  many  a  little  fish  he  caught  as  it  was  swim 
ming  past. 

And  I  forget  his  harsh  abuse,  for,  up  in  the  tall 
elm-tree, 

A  purple  finch  sat  high  and  sang  a  heavenly  song 
for  me. 


PICCOLA. 

POOR,  sweet  Piccola !     Did  you  hear 
What  happened  to  Piccola,  children  dear  ? 
'T  is  seldom  Fortune  such  favor  grants 
As  fell  to  this  little  maid  of  France. 

'T  was  Christmas-time,  and  her  parents  poor 
Could  hardly  drive  the  wolf  from  the  door, 
Striving  with  poverty's  patient   pain 
Only  to  live  till  summer  again. 

No  gifts  for  Piccola  !     Sad  were  they 
When  dawned  the  morning  of  Christmas-day  ; 
Their  little  darling  no  joy  might  stir, 
St.  Nicholas  nothing  would  bring  to  her  ! 

But  Piccola  never  doubted  at  all 
That  something  beautiful  must  befall 
Every  child  upon  Christmas-day, 
And  so  she  slept  till  the  dawn  was  gray. 


138  PICCOLA. 

And  full  of  faith,  when  at  last  she  woke, 
She  stole  to  her  shoe  as  the  morning  broke  ; 
Such  sounds  of  gladness  filled   all  the  air, 
'T  was  plain  St.  Nicholas  had  been  there  ! 

In  rushed  Piccola  sweet,  half  wild : 
Never  was  seen  such  a  joyful  child. 
"  See  what  the  good  saint  brought !  "  she  cried, 
And  mother  and  father  must  peep  inside. 

Now  such  a  story  who  ever  heard  ? 
There  was  a  little  shivering  bird  ! 
A  sparrow,  that  in  at  the  window  flew, 
Had  crept  into  Piccola's  tiny  shoe  ! 

"  How  good  poor  Piccola  must  have  been  !  " 
She  cried,  as  happy  as  any  queen, 
While  the  starving  sparrow  she  fed  and  warmed, 
And  danced  with  rapture,  she  was  so  charmed. 

Children,  this  story  I  tell  to  you," 
Of  Piccola  sweet  and  her  bird,  is  true. 
In  the  far-off  land  of  France,  they  say, 
Still  do  they  live  to  this  very  day. 


A  TRIUMPH. 

LITTLE  ROGER  up  the  long  slope  rushing 

Through  the  rustling  corn, 

Showers    of    dew-drops    from    the    broad    leaves 
brushing 

In  the  early  morn, 

At  his  sturdy  little  shoulder  bearing, 

For  a  banner  gay, 
Stem  of  fir  with  one  long  shaving  flaring 

In  the  wind  away  ! 


Up  he  goes,  the  summer  sunrise  flushing 

O'er  him  in  his  race, 
Sweeter  dawn  of  rosy  childhood  blushing 

On  his  radiant  face  \ 

If  he  can  but  set  his  standard  glorious 

On  the  hill-top  low, 
Ere  the  sun  climbs  the  clear   sky  victorious, 

All  the  world  aglow  ! 


I4O  A    TRIUMPH. 

So  he  presses  on  with  childish   ardor, 

Almost  at  the  top ! 
Hasten,  Roger  !     Does  the  way  grow  harder  ? 

Wherefore  do  you  stop  ? 

From  below  the  corn-stalks  tall  and  slender 

Comes  a  plaintive  cry ; 
Turns  he  for  an  instant   from  the  splendor 

Of  the  crimson  sky, 

Wavers,  then  goes  flying  toward   the  hollow, 

Calling  loud   and  clear, 
"  Coming,  Jenny  !     Oh,  why  did  you  follow  ? 

Don't  you  cry,  my  dear ! " 

Small  Janet  sits  weeping  'mid  the  daisies; 

"  Little  sister  sweet, 
Must  you  follow  Roger?"     Then  he  raises 

Baby  on  her  feet. 

Guides  her  tiny  steps  with  kindness  tender, 

Cheerfully  and  gay, 
All  his  courage  and  his  strength  would  lend  her 

Up  the  uneven  way, 

Till  they  front  the  blazing  east  together ; 
But  the  sun  has  rolled 


A    TRIUMPH.  141 

Up  the  sky  in  the  still  summer  weather, 
Flooding  them  with  gold. 

All  forgotten  is  the  boy's  ambition, 

Low  the  standard  lies, 
Still  they  stand,  and  gaze  —  a  sweeter  vision 

Ne'er  met  mortal  eyes. 

That  was  splendid,  Roger,  that  was  glorious, 

Thus  to  help  the   weak; 
Better  than  to  plant  your  flag  victorious 

On  earth's  highest  peak  ! 


RESCUED. 

"  LITTLE  lad,  slow  wandering  across  the  sands  so 
yellow, 

Leading  safe  a  lassie  small  —  Oh,  tell  me,  little 
fellow, 

Whither  go  you,  loitering  in  the  summer  weather, 

Chattering  like  sweet-voiced  birds  on  a  bough  to 
gether  ? " 

"  I  am  Robert,  if  you  please,  and   this  is    Rose, 

my  sister, 
Youngest  of  us  all  "  —  he  bent  his  curly  head  and 

kissed  her, 
"Every  day  we  come  and   wait  here  till  the  sun 

is  setting, 
Watching  for  our  father's  ship,  for  mother  dear  is 

fretting. 

"  Long  ago  he  sailed  away  out  of  sight  and  hearing, 
Straight  across  the  bay  he  went,  into  sunset  steer 
ing. 


RESCUED.  143 

Every  day  we  look  for  him,  and  hope  for  his  re 
turning, 

Every  night  my  mother  keeps  the  candle  for  him 
burning. 

"  Summer  goes,  and  Winter  comes,  and  Spring  re 
turns,  but  never 

Father's  step  comes  to  the  gate.  Oh  !  is  he  gone 
forever  ? 

The  great  grand  ship  that  bore  him  off,  think  you 
some  tempest  wrecked  her  ?  " 

Tears  shone  in  little  Rose's  eyes,  upturned  to  her 
protector. 

Eagerly  the  bonny  boy  went  on  :    "  Oh,  sir,  look 

yonder ! 
In  the  offing  see  the  sails  that  east  and  westward 

wander ; 
Every  hour  they  come  and  go,  the  misty  distance 

thronging, 
While  we  watch  and  see   them  fade,  with  sorrow 

and  with  longing." 

"  Little    Robert  !   little   Rose  !  "     The   stranger's 

eyes  were  glistening, 
At  his   bronzed   and   bearded   face   upgazed   the 

children,  listening  ; 


144  RESCUED. 

He  knelt  upon  the  yellow  sand,  and  clasped  them 

to  his  bosom, 
Robert  brave,  and   little  Rose,  as   bright   as  any 

blossom. 

"  Father  !  Father  !  Is  it  you  ? "  The  still  air  rings 
with  rapture  ; 

All  the  vanished  joy  of  years  the  waiting  ones  re 
capture  ! 

Finds  he  welcome  wild  and  sweet,  the  low-thatched 
cottage  reaching, 

But  the  ship  that  into  sunset  steered  upon  the 
rocks  lies  bleaching. 


THE  CONSTANT  DOVE. 

THE  white  dove  sat  on  the  sunny  eaves, 

And    "  What   will   you   do  when   the    north  wind 

grieves  ? " 

She  said  to  the  busy  nuthatch  small, 
Tapping  above  in  the  gable  tall. 

He  probed  each  crack  with  his  slender  beak, 
And  much  too  busy  he  was  to  speak. 
Spiders,  that  thought  themselves  safe  and  sound, 
And  moths  and  flies  and  cocoons  he  found. 

Oh  !  but  the  white  dove  she  was  fair, 
Bright  she  shone  in  the  autumn  air, 
Turning  her  head  from  the  left  to  the  right ; 
Only  to  watch  her  was  such  delight ! 

"  Coo  !  "  she  murmured,  "  poor  little  thing, 
What  will  you  do  when  the  frosts  shall  sting  ? 
Spiders  and  flies  will  be  hidden  or  dead, 
Snow  underneath  and  snow  overhead." 


10 


146  THE   CONSTANT  DOVE. 

Nuthatch  paused  in  his  busy  care  : 
"  And  what  will  you  do,  O  white  dove  fair  !  " 
"  Oh,  kind  hands  feed  me  with  crumbs  and  grain, 
And  I  wait  with  patience  for  spring  again." 

He  laughed  so  loud  that  his  laugh  I  heard, 
"  How  can  you  be  such  a  stupid  bird  ! 
What  are  your  wings  for,  tell  me,  pray, 
But  to  bear  you  from  tempests  and  cold  away  ? 

"Merrily  off  to  the  South  I  fly, 
In  search  of  the  summer,  presently, 
And  warmth  and  beauty  I  '11  find  anew. 
Why  don't  you  follow  the  summer,  too  ?  " 

But  she  cooed  content  on  the  sunny  eaves, 
And  looked  askance  at  the  reddening  leaves ; 
And  grateful  I  whispered :  "  O  white  dove  true, 
I  '11  feed  you  and  love  you  the  winter  through." 


WILD  GEESE. 

THE  wind   blows,  the  sun   shines,  the  birds   sing 

loud, 
The  blue,  blue  sky  is  flecked  with  fleecy  dappled 

cloud, 
Over  earth's   rejoicing  fields   the   children   dance 

and  sing, 
And  the  frogs  pipe  in  chorus,  "  It  is  spring  !     It  is 

spring  !  " 

The  grass  comes,  the  flower  laughs   where  lately 

lay  the  snow, 

O'er  the  breezy  hill-top   hoarsely  calls  the  crow, 
By  the  flowing  river  the  alder  catkins  swing, 
And  the  sweet  song-sparrow  cries,  "  Spring  !     It  is 

spring ! " 

Hark,  what  a  clamor  goes  winging  through  the  sky ! 
Look,  children  !     Listen  to  the  sound  so  wild  and 

high! 

Like  a  peal  of  broken  bells,  —  kling,  klang,  kling,  — 
Far  and  high  the  wild  geese  cry,  "  Spring  !     It  is 

spring ! " 


148  WILD   GEESE. 

Bear  the  winter  off  with  you,  O  wild  geese  dear  ! 
Carry  all  the  cold  away,  far  away  from  here  ; 
Chase  the  snow  into  the  north,  O  strong  of  heart 

and  wing, 
While  we    share    the   robin's    rapture,    crying, 

"  Spring  !     It  is  spring !  " 


THE  KITTIWAKES. 

LIKE  white  feathers  blown  about  the  rocks, 
Like  soft  snow-flakes  wavering  in  the  air, 

Wheel  the  Kittiwakes  in  scattered  flocks, 
Crying,  floating,  fluttering  everywhere. 

Shapes  of  snow  and  cloud,  they  soar  and  whirl 
Downy  breasts  that  shine  like  lilies  white; 

Delicate  vaporous  tints  of  gray  and  pearl 
Laid  upon  their  arching  wings  so  light. 

Eyes  of  jet  and  beaks  and  feet  of  gold,  — 
Lovelier  creatures  never  sailed  in  air  ; 

Innocent,  inquisitive,  and  bold, 

Knowing  not  the  dangers  that  they  dare. 

Stooping  now  above  a  beckoning  hand, 

Following  gleams  of  waving  kerchiefs  white, 

What  should  they  of  evil  understand, 

Though  the  gun  awaits  them  full  in  sight  ? 


150  THE  KITTIWAKES. 

Though  their  blood  the  quiet  wave  makes  red, 
Though  their  broken  plumes  float  far  and  wide, 

Still  they  linger,  hovering  overhead, 

Still  the  gun  deals  death  on  every  side. 

Oh,  begone,  sweet  birds,  or  higher  soar  ! 

See  you  not  your  comrades  low  are  laid  ? 
But  they  only  flit  and  call  the  more, — 

Ignorant,  unconscious,  undismayed. 

Nay,  then,  boatman,  spare  them  !     Must  they  bear 
Pangs  like  these  for  human  vanity  ? 

That  their  lovely  plumage  we   may  wear 
Must  these  fair,  pathetic  creatures  die  ? 

Let  the  tawny  squaws  themselves  admire, 
Decked  with  feathers  —  we  can   wiser  be. 

Ah,  beseech  you,  boatman,  do  not  fire  ! 
Stain  no  more  with  blood  the   tranquil  sea. 


TRAGEDY. 

"  You  queer  little  wonderful  owlet !   you  atom  so 

fluffy  and  small ! 
Half  a  handful  of  feathers  and  two  great  eyes  — 

how  came  you  alive  at  all  ? 
And  why  do  you  sit  here  blinking  as  blind  as  a 

bat  in  the  light, 
With  your  pale  eyes  bigger  than  saucers  ?     Now 

who  ever  saw  such  a  sight ! 

"  And  what  ails  chickadee,  tell  me  !  what   makes 

him  flutter  and  scream 
Round   and   over  you  where   you    sit    like  a  tiny 

ghost  in  a  dream  ? 
I  thought  him  a  sensible  fellow,  quite  steady  and 

calm  and  wise, 
But  only  see  how  he  hops  and  flits,  and  hear  how 

wildly  he  cries  ! 

"  What  is  the  matter,  you  owlet  ?    You  will  not  be 

frightened  away  !  — 
Do   you   mean    on    that  twig   of   a   lilac-bush   the 

whole  night  long  to  stay  ? 


152  TRAGEDY. 

Are  you  bewitching  my  chickadee-dee  ?     I  really 

believe  that  you  are  ! 
I  wish   you'd   go  off,  you   strange   brown  bird  — 

oh,  ever  and  ever  so  far ! 

**  I  fear  you  are  weaving  and  winding  some  kind 

of  a  dreadful  charm  ; 
If  I  leave  poor  chickadee-dee  with  you,  I  'm  sure 

he  will  come  to  harm. 
But  what  can  I  do  ?    We  can't  stay  here  forever 

together,  we  three  — 
One   anxious   child,   and   an   owlet   weird,  and   a 

frightened  chickadee-dee  !  " 

I  could  not  frighten  the  owl  away,  and  chickadee 

would  not  come, 
So  I  just  ran  off  with  a  heavy  heart,  and  told  my 

mother  at  home  ; 
But  when  my  brothers  and  sisters  went  the  curious 

sight  to  see, 
The  owl  was  gone,  and  there  lay  on  the  ground 

two  feathers  of  chickadee-dee  ! 


14  DAY  USE 

I  RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


RETURNED  TO 
ANTHRO  LIB, 


8918?; 


Mrs.   u 


T368 


i 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


